"That fucking beast of a woman," Draco muttered, lugging through the thick, muddy water of the marsh.
He glanced up to the night sky with concern and irritation. The stars spun faster, burned brighter. They were up to something; no, she was up to something. The bitter wind chilled his bones. It always hated him, preferring Theo for some spiteful reason. The gentle breeze that aided Theo during quidditch matches was the same violent gusts he fought against high in the clouds. The wind would never cut him a break.
Draco's knuckles whitened around his lit wand as the swamp sloshed thickly with each step he took towards finding Dahlia.
"She's just my goddamn luck," he mumbled to himself. He was going to murder her for dragging him out of bed, in the cold nonetheless, to chase her down for the second time in twenty-four hours. He tugged on their bond, using it as a rope to shepherd the way and reel her in.
"You lot couldn't have made her a slow runner?" He yelled to both The Fates and no one at all in frustration. "It's the least you could have done…."
He was starting to question the nature of cosmic consequences. Maybe he should have been more pleasant all those years. Maybe he should have said hello to Longbottom instead of smacking him across the back of the head all these years — or at least ignored him. Maybe he shouldn't have sent Blaise to give the Gryffindor quidditch team food poisoning with cursed chocolates. Maybe he shouldn't have convinced Theo that it would be hilarious to convince Professor Sprout he had a crush on her. His contemplation of life choices grew heavier as the depths deepened. His belief in karma becoming more firm with each kick of mud forward.
The water rippled as a small splash resounded nearby. Draco jumped, already on edge as he waded through marshlands in the black of night. He stilled, newly weary and on high alert. Draco waited in anticipation as he moved the light of his wand to double check his immediate perimeter.
After a moment's pause, he pressed on, deeper into the sleeping forest. He didn't have time to waste. Dahlia was always quick to find trouble.
He moved through the marsh with hurried steps, water rising nearly to his chest now. The still surface reflected the constellations above. His disturbance swirling them into new creations as he trudged beneath branches of haunted trees. He sensed a dark life force pumping through their roots that gave the trees an unnatural, crimson hue. Draco's silver hair fell into his face as he shook his head in disbelief of the situation he found himself in. "Karma can suck my-"
A woman giggled.
He stopped abruptly as insects silenced. Even the owls ceased their calls. A sickled foreboding filled him with the unusual sense that this time he was prey, instead of predator. He would have doubted the soft laugh was real had he not been awoken by the distorted wail of a banshee.
The wind abandoned him — not that he was surprised. His intuition was screeching at him to run while his instincts begged him to set the whole wood alight in silvery, scorching flames — but Dahlia was out here, somewhere. Draco suddenly wished he had paid more attention in Defense Against the Dark Arts so a murderous spell, or a raging fire weren't his only go-to defenses.
Fuck, he thought.
He wouldn't give whatever hunted the advantage.
"Nox," he whispered, plunging himself into darkness, despite the moon's exceptionally vivid light hidden behind the twisting branches. Draco had to remind himself how much he loved Dahlia before taking a deep breath and slipping beneath the surface of the diluted bog water. He moved quickly and carefully beneath the muddy surface as he crawled along the bottom of the swamp. He didn't want to be discovered as he didn't have time to fight off any unexpected creatures. He moved silently.
He was getting closer to Dahlia — her whereabouts rebounding off her end of their fateful tether. His lungs began aching as he pushed the limits of holding his breath. He slowly rose to the surface, making no sound and the briefest ripple. The winter air chilled the black droplets of bog water against his cheeks as they dripped down his angular features — until a soft exhale warmed them. A chill reached up his spine.
He wasn't alone.
In a flash of terror, Draco opened his eyes. Dread locked him in place as a set of glowing eyes stared back at him just above the murky surface, and a breath away. They were as green as lively moss in summer. The creature giggled once more in amusement as she tilted her chin upwards to him, revealing her entire face. The warmth of her tiny laugh grazed his cheek. It snapped him out of shock.
He slowly rose to full height, and the nymph's eyes widened. Beneath the mud that covered her face and a crown of lilies perched on her brow, he could make out ancient symbols etched across her forehead. The dark ink contrasted against her pale skin beneath the moonlight.
She tilted her head curiously, as if debating if she should play with her prey first, although he towered over her menacingly. Draco felt the sharpness of her pointed nails as she brushed against his hip beneath the surface.
The nymph must have read the horror slapped on his face. Her brow wrinkled in concern as she held a blackened finger to her blood-red lips.
"She wants to meet you this time," it sang sweetly.
Draco gulped as the nymph smiled, revealing decayed, graying teeth. Whoever 'she' was had unfortunately sent this tragically beautiful abomination his way —but he didn't take well to be called forth like a dog. His pride trumped terror. The proclamation kicked him into gear.
"She can get in line," he replied with a nasty sneer. He raised his wand to the tip of her pointed nose. "Ventus," he casted nonchalantly.
A gust of wind roared into a circling gale as it crashed into the nymph. It propelled her out of the water and blew her into the snarling branches above. Her red hair tangled in the force as Draco bent the wind to obey his command. It gave him a smug pleasure to leverage what disliked him so much.
He felt a slither against the bare skin of his back. He whipped around and casted aimlessly into the black marsh. He swam back from the several thick, coiling bodies of the snakes that should have been hibernating during the dead of winter. Nails slashed against his forearm beneath the water. He inhaled sharply as the pain radiated.
He paused for a second; long enough to be pulled harshly beneath the surface by his wrist. He lit his wand within his clenched knuckles as a pair of glowing green eyes landed on him. Black hair braided with seaweed swirled to blind him. He fought violently against the black-haired nymph as he tried to rise to the surface. With a small cast of red light that landed against her bare stomach, he rose forth. He broke through the surface of the bog, gasping for air as he splashed wildly against the nymph who refused to give up.
"You vile bitch," he spat before casting her back with a tidal wave of blue light. The water crashed against her as he shifted it to his will. He would drown the water nymph with her own element.
He heard a rustle from above in the twisting trees, followed by a large splash. His concentration of contorting the water broke. Draco spun around only to realize the red-headed nymph had returned with a vengeance. She smiled viciously as she pushed his head back beneath the bog with a supernatural strength. Draco kicked her in the chest as the black-haired nymph slammed against his back. She dug her sharp nails into his side. Her webbed fingers moved up his chest and finally wrapped around his jaw as he thrashed. His own hand gripped the back of her neck with white-knuckled strength through her slippery locks of hair, readying to retch her away. She quickly whispered a foreign word, magic of her own, as she slipped her rotting tongue against his ear.
The world lost light.
—
Draco's eyes rolled beneath his lids, regaining tender consciousness.
Sharply, they opened. The earth curled beneath his back as he lay cloaked in the dense fog of the forest floor. He turned his head, noticing the ombre of black rot to lush moss upon the old timber. Nature thrived here, even in the coldest of winters.
Tiny whispers hummed gently against his ear. He sighed peacefully as he looked to the sky — but it couldn't be found. Thick twisting branches collided above, blocking any starlight. The hair rose on his bare arms.
Divinity dripped from the heavens and landed just beneath his eye. It rolled down his cheek and onto his lips like a tear. It tasted of life and copper — blood.
He recalibrated, remembering the last moment of wakefulness — the nymphs had knocked him out.
He swiftly sat up to discover they had left him in a clearing, alone. Draco glanced around frantically. A path carved by nature itself was before him. A row of trees lined either side of the path and expanded into the clearing. They were connected as one through warping and mangled roots forming an arch. He could no longer tell if he was above or below. They formed a thick, rounded roof as if whatever resided here had burrowed a hundred lifetimes ago.
Then, he heard them. The cluster of whispers that had brought Dahlia to tears in the cavern of stars. They brushed against his mind like cashmere — they welcomed him home. No wonder she had screamed in agony when they had silenced. It was the greatest comfort and sweetest bliss he had ever known.
He turned, needing to find the lovely source.
Draco's eyes widened in shock. A veiled figure sat on her knees, nearly in arm's reach. He hadn't heard her at all. Draco realized, with a curious tilt of head, because she wasn't breathing. She was statuesque, cloaked in a diaphanous veil of crimson. It pooled around her in the moist dirt and map of tree roots, but remained untouched by the smears of nature. His throat locked as shock tumbled through him. He wanted to back away, but he didn't dare stand above her. He couldn't bring himself to move.
"Where is Dahlia?" He blurted in a shaking whisper.
The figure remained stoic and unspeaking. He winced as the devout words broke into his mind.
She is nurtured, Draco understood. The words painted his consciousness as if cutting through wet condensation on a mirror.
He stared, unable to blink, as the sight of the monster before him nearly burned his bones to bear witness. The figure lifted her hand slowly beneath the veil. His eyes fell to the palm of her hand. Beneath the sheer fabric, woven with shimmering threads of starlight and the blood of all kingdoms, he saw her. He grappled with the familiarity.
"Dahlia?" His voice cracked.
As she reached for him, he was no longer afraid. With two veiled fingers, she closed his eyes and through her divine shroud, the forger of fate exhaled fragments of knowledge. It swirled on commanded wind. The knowledge reached his lips like a long-forgotten kiss that had persevered through the rise and fall of empires. And with destiny's truths, a stubborn man bent.
The endings to all their stories before landed like a punch to the chest. They were doomed to be just out of reach — always searching, continuously finding, falling without fail, then wrestling with the universe to bring it to its knees. Their happy ending was too high of a cost for nature. He watched as she died, time and time again, meaningless deaths. He had seen the best moments of all their lives if only to lead him here, to this tremendous second of understanding.
An old voice rose from the depths of his subconscious. It hushed his despair. "This time, it shall be."
When Draco's eyes fluttered open once more, she was gone. A swelling grief devoured him over the loss of sweetened whispers. It was too quiet without them — the world too awful to manage.
In the rip current of loneliness, his need to find Dahlia flourished. He took off down the carved path, searching the night sky to follow his North Star.
—
Dahlia screamed as her mind crashed into her physical form.
She breathed a breath back to life, eyes rolling deliriously. Her face twisted in anguish as her vision focused. The world's colors seemed dull. It was a dreary existence compared to the magnificence of the cosmos. There had been colors unseen. She had touched wavelengths unknown.
The stars of night shimmered to welcome her back. Dahlia realized she was on her back. She coughed as she tried to sit up without success. She panicked as she lifted her head to find webbings of tree roots covered her. Draco's moonlit hair fell into her face as he bent down to cup her cheek.
"It's alright," he firmly stated.
He moved with precision, ripping away the woven roots that encased her arms. Dahlia noted his hellish appearance. Dried mud and grass flecked off nearly every inch of his bare chest and neck. Three gashes slashed his forearm as if talons had swiped him, aiming for his heart and just missing. He wiped his face of sweat, the fallen blood smearing his cheek. Whatever he had been through to get to her had been no easy feat.
Once freed, she sat up and reached for him. He shook his head with disapproval, breaking the bloodied tree roots as they climbed up her legs, consuming her.
"What have you done, Dahlia?" He spat coldly with worry.
She tried to push her hair out of her face but felt a small tug. She looked down to where the roots had embedded within her cut palm. It no longer viciously drank, but pulsed with her steady heartbeat.
"It's no longer taking, Draco," she murmured quietly in disbelief. She lifted her slashed palm in wonder. "It's giving," she exclaimed breathlessly.
The ancient tree no longer took her sacrificed blood. It had emptied her vessels then filled them with knowledge and black shimmering starlight. She removed the roots from the inside of her hand calmly.
Draco rubbed his face as he kneeled before her, trying to make sense of it all. She flung her arms around his neck, grateful he had come for her and that she didn't have to face this alone. He clutched her tightly to his chest in return and exhaled deeply in relief.
"Don't you ever fucking do this again," he mumbled. "What happened?" He tucked her tangled hair behind her ears.
"I heard it calling. You wouldn't wake, and then I was lead here," she answered. Draco stared at her intently, but his mind seemed to drift elsewhere. Her eyes fell with concern. "Draco, what's wrong?"
He blinked and refocused his attention. "Nothing," he replied quietly, running his bloodied hand behind her neck. He pulled her to his chest and tucked her beneath his chin. "I just love you so much." He kissed her temple.
"What did you see?" He asked curiously after a moment.
She paused, looking for words to describe the beauty of what she had been shown. The wind gently pierced her bones, and she shivered. "Let's just get the fuck out of here first," she mumbled.
He helped her stand, and she turned to face the bog water below the mound of tree roots. "I'm not going in that water," Draco quickly refused.
"Bad time?" Dahlia snorted as she began climbing up the immense roots at the base of the three-headed tree to find a path back home. She padded along the blood-soaked moss, unbothered by its grotesque nature.
"I had to punch a nymph to find you," he replied casually, hiding his disturbance that she found this swampy trek to be a walk in the park.
Dahlia waited for him to catch up as he climbed up to the base of the ancient tree. She took his hand and lead him along a path of interwoven roots out of the wood.
Draco observed her carefully as she moved with newfound grace. The moonlight followed her like a spotlight. She hummed, and the owls hooted in return. She mumbled beneath her breath and the stars wrinkled to form a treasure map in the sky, guiding her home.
Goosebumps formed anew, and he reminded himself that there was no need for him to fear her. Whatever power she was leaning into, he had encouraged. The wind blew, kneeling at her feet, as they took their final steps out of the marsh and walked up the gravel driveway between the tall grass.
"My mother used to warn me about those woods." Dahlia crossed her arms for warmth.
"I doubt you wanted to explore the marsh, anyway. I know you," he grinned. He pulled her in front of him and rubbed her arms gently. "More likely to explore the bottom of a tequila bottle," he whispered against her earlobe. She elbowed him and smiled.
He stopped short as they approached her mother's house. She continued on without pause, creeping up the stairs of the porch in the short, silken nightgown he had begged to buy for her.
He spun his wand anxiously, his mind both racing and relieved that he had answers.
"I know what you are," he yelled after her casually.
She turned, her hair glowing cooly under the brightest moon he had known. A small grin played at the corners of her lips. He took a few lazy steps forward as he reached the porch stairs.
"And what's that?" She replied coyly.
She looked down at him with bashful eyes — the gaze that had convinced him all these years that she was as gentle as a summer breeze and as oblivious as a hunted faun. She took a step down to meet him at eye level, eyes swirling with assorted shades of emerald flora — a tell of her sacred bloodline and bind to Creation.
Without breaking contact, he brought her forearm to his lips. She smiled true as he kissed her skin gently. He lowered her arm between them and dragged the tip of his wand across her skin. A thin cut followed its path as he willed it with magic.
She didn't bother to glance as she bled a deepened shade of crimson, nearly black. It shimmered in the moonlight as he smeared it with his fingertip. He realized it didn't matter what filled her veins, blood or starlight. She was the life force itself; a vessel of power, and he loved her either shade.
"A god," he murmured, unafraid.
He brought her blood to his tongue, inhaling sharply as if it tasted of nectar. "I heard the whispers. They said She wanted me to meet me. Then I saw you — the outline of you, beneath a veil of this exact shade."
Dahlia didn't know what to make of it, but she didn't let it frighten her. "Time is unchangeable. It's a book that only few can read. Seers are only a catalyst for definite actions that will occur. We merely flip through pages to see what the universe has willed — endings," she replied quietly.
"We've had no happy endings, but you said this time, it shall be."
"She," Dahlia corrected, "not me."
She reached for his own arm and inspected his gashes. "What do want to bleed?" Dahlia whispered as if giving him a choice. The rings of her eyes glowed silver as she dipped into her well of divine power, and turned his falling blood shimmering black, liquid stardust.
Crimson streamed down the palm of his hand before she could wipe it away; change it. He rested on her words and reflected on what he had seen, realizing their path was not their own to decide — but Draco saw the way the sky rippled when she spoke, she wasn't just a seer or a witch. She was closer to creation and the universe.
He lifted his chin and stepped one stair higher. He rubbed his bloodied knuckles against her cheek as she allowed him to tower over her. He grinned as he pressed his body against hers. "Whatever you have willed, my little nightmare."
—
"There's nothing worthwhile in this one," Eloise sighed, snapping a book with midnight blue pages shut. It hissed in response as she tossed it to the side.
The warmth of the magnified afternoon sun threatened to steal wakefulness from Dahlia as she lay on the linen couch in the upstairs library. It was a small pale, yellow room lined with white, built-in bookcases. The shelves were wrecked far before they arrived as her mother often preferred chaos. Some shelves were empty while others were littered with coffee-stained papers. Books were strewn about messily amongst half the bookcases instead of in an orderly fashion. Ancient spell books, that appeared to have been stolen, were stacked between romance novels.
Dahlia drifted to sleep as she watched Draco. He sat upon the baby-blue oriental carpets that covered the light wood floors with four different textbooks surrounding him. The floating dust in the sunrays lit him spectacularly as he took a sip of coffee from her old mug with his head down. A flush threatened the hollow of his cheeks — a lasting consequence from their outing last night and the love they had made this morning.
Her mind slipped to remember a time when she couldn't imagine Draco Malfoy walking these halls. She had always dreamed of inheriting this home one day, and wondered what husband she would stay here to escape from, just like her mother. Her younger self would simply die of shock if she had known it might be a Malfoy, then dig her own grave if she knew how tightly she clung to his side. Her eyes fought to open as he glanced up at her, sensing her loving stare. He was a forgiving peace in her life.
Draco rolled his eyes as she began napping like a cat, curled up sweetly and sunbathing. He threw a book on ancient languages at her. "Wake up," he ordered. He wouldn't be so easily enchanted by her loveliness while he did all the work.
She whined as it collided with her side. "Ow," Dahlia cried, sitting up.
She stretched and mumbled she needed more coffee.
They had been scouring through her mother's books for hours, and her journey through the swamp the night before had left her tired and sore. A quiet thump echoed through the house from downstairs, where Xavier lurked. The stairs squeaked as she went down to investigate. She entered the airy, cream-colored kitchen to discover Xavier seated on the marble counter, bowl of cereal in hand. She went to open the wooden pantry door when he mumbled, "I wouldn't do that."
She looked at him in question with her hand on the doorknob.
"I was trying to transfigure a can into cereal and misfired the spell then-"
Dahlia rolled her eyes and opened the door. A hundred cans of cranberry sauce fell like an avalanche out of the pantry.
"Xavier!" She squealed as one landed on her foot.
"I thought you might want to keep them!" He yelled back with a full mouth. He waved his wand to rid the cans as he read her incredulous expression.
Speechless, Dahlia entered the pantry to grab more coffee grinds.
"Tired?" Xavier asked as she fiddled with the coffeemaker. "This might wake you up." He grinned and cleared his throat as he read from a pink romance novel, "his velvet member pulsated against her folds…" He giggled at the cringey erotica.
Dahlia snatched the book from his hand. "Fucking gods," she snorted. "Is that what you are doing down here? Reading smut?"
"The smut in the pile of books by your bed is much better." He winked with a boyish smile.
"You're banned from our dorm. I don't care what Eloise says." She slapped his arm as he slurped milk from the bowl.
She paused as she noticed the numbers on the face of his watch spin. She stepped close to inspect. The face spun into a whirling blur until the numbers finally reappeared as letters. The hands of the clock pointing rapidly — spelling out words. Her eyes shifted to meet his. Up close, she could see the golden hue near the pupils of his turquoise eyes. His demeanor turned cagey as she discovered one of his secrets upon his wrist.
"Your proximity scandalizes me, Dahlia." He feigned innocence. Beneath his playful, roguish gaze was distrust for the world. He stared at her deliberately, sizing her up as if he hadn't yet determined if she was a threat despite their friendliness.
"Seems my father has a message for me." Xavier pushed his wrist closer to her face. "Read it to me, doll."
She scrunched her nose before turning her attention back to the clock face. He watched as her face contorted in confusion. For a brief moment, the world ended in her eyes beneath her furrowed brows. Whatever the message was had unsettled her, and left a cloud of despair.
"Are you alright?" He asked, setting down his bowl of cereal.
She quickly rebuilt her walls and composed herself. "Yes," she replied, shifting away. "The Notts are planning to stop by your home the day after tomorrow."
Xavier quickly fidgeted with his watch to repeat the message. He fumbled for a reply as she smacked the coffee machine, demanding it brew faster.
"I could, um, possibly bring you?" He managed to spit out more clumsily than he intended.
"No," she laughed sadly. "We both know if he wanted to be in my presence, he would."
He bit his lip, and downcasted his eyes. "I don't know if that is necessarily fair," he muttered.
Dahlia angled her face slowly with a glare that threatened to send him right to hell.
"He loves you," he answered quickly. He held up a finger to hush her. "We all told you he was irrational and occasionally awful, and yet you still loved him, anyway. Don't get it wrong, I will punch him in the teeth for hurting you, but know that he loves you." He sighed and leaned back on his wrist. "He has probably justified what he has done somehow in his mind."
"Whose side are you even on?" Dahlia yelled in a whisper.
"Dahlia!" He scolded her. "I'm giving you my rare, honest opinion. You should be reveling in it." He lowered his voice as if realizing Draco was just above him, upstairs. "Technically, I'm on both sides as I am stuck in the middle." He leaned towards her. "But if Draco asks, I'm on his." He motioned his hand across his neck to insinuate Draco would murder him for siding elsewhere.
Dahlia sighed morosely as she pulled down a mug from the cabinet above her. He raised his brow as to repeat his original offer to bring her to see Theo.
She shook her head. "It's not smart for me to be wandering around when there's a target on my back. I need to return to school. I promised Draco."
She couldn't believe she was denying the chance to see Theo, but it was the better decision. She knew face to face, she would only be able to scream at him.
"Is there anything you would at least like me to pass along when I see him?" He asked quietly.
"No," she firmly answered, pouring her coffee.
"You're being stubborn," he shot back, pulling down a mug for himself. She poured coffee into his mug, as well.
She sighed. "I've come to realize that even if I was tied to Theo instead, it still wouldn't be enough for him. He always wants more — more love, more glory, more knowledge — so no, I have no more forgiveness or words to give him. I'm all out."
He rolled his tongue across his teeth. "I'll tell him you're at the anger stage within grief," he nodded nervously.
"I couldn't care less what you tell him," she replied, shoving the coffee pot back into the machine.
He grinned, noting her body language conveyed otherwise. She hated that she so obviously cared. "Then I will send word immediately after his departure," Xavier replied smoothly.
Dahlia tried to storm off as best she could with a full mug of coffee. He hopped off the counter and strolled after her.
"I think this is the start of a beautiful partnership, Aldair."
"Don't hold your breath, and don't you dare send word," she grumbled as they walked up the stairs.
Dahlia sipped her coffee before setting it on a small table next to a tufted linen chair in the library. She draped her arms over Draco's shoulders and kissed his cheek as she sat down next to him on the carpet. He didn't glance away from the text in front of him, but a smile tugged at the corners of his lips.
"Baby, you are sure of what you saw?" He asked quietly as he studied a mythology textbook. Her mother had circled Themis's name. A tipping scale pouring ink had been drawn in the byline. An eyeless woman was drawn on the other page. She grimaced at the remembrance of her madness in the end.
"Yes, I saw the old gods. The creation of them, and then of us. I saw the goddess of Night craft witches. Themis was so upset over the injustice the goddess had committed to her mother's creations, and to the natural balance, that she disappeared. My mother was begging The Fates and our ancestors to wake her." She paused thoughtfully. "The Fates said we would find each other and an heir would be forged instead."
"You showed me though, that we always find each other and it always ends unfavorably. What has to happen this time around that's so important?"
"First, I showed you nothing. I believe you saw Gaia, or Themis, in a weird fever-dream deep in the swamp. Second, what if this is the first life I've amplified my Sight? Or the Dark Lord has pushed the scales too far? The Fates said when darkness prevails, we will find each other. And what if you killing me is the difference?"
"Themis is asleep. And never repeat that. It won't be the difference," he snapped.
"Who says she didn't quietly wake up and let The Fates continue doing the brunt of her job," she replied with a raised brow. He didn't respond. Instead, he turned back to the pages of his book. She sighed, "I keep thinking back to my mother's own prophecy. She mentioned a second person — a prince. I have a feeling he could be a missing piece."
"Theo is not part of this. I think you miss him, and it's clouding your judgement. He is no prince, Dahlia. This isn't a ridiculous fairytale."
Dahlia didn't answer. They had been pushing and pulling against the wedge of him between their relationship. She knew he was doing his best to be patient with her heartbreak, but it snagged his own heart occasionally.
Eloise shot Draco an annoyed look, not wanting to write Theo off so easily. "He's been researching The Fates to no end. He had accurately assumed time and blood magic are linked. Plus, you said it yourself, Dahlia, he's been trying to find a way to sever your bond."
"And you told him that was impossible?" Draco asked her with a raising voice. She read between the lines that he was asking her if that was what she had once wanted. It pained him.
"I don't know if it's totally impossible. He thinks we are linked through the dark magic I casted on myself when I consumed the crystal — and I don't completely disagree. I think the bond that ties us has also been amplified through the spell. It would explain why your end of the bond is strengthened too. You can also send me emotions and locate me, which is odd."
"Dahlia," he snapped. "He understands that this a real? That the root of our bond isn't based in magic at all and we are indefinite?" He pointed between himself and her. She paused, thinking with her mouth agape. Now that she reflected on it, she wasn't quite sure he ever fully fathomed the magnitude. It had always been written off as a fixable mistake in his eyes. She hadn't had the courage to tell him by snapping their bond, she was almost sure she would die. She couldn't confidently say that he seemed to absorb much truth in anything. He made his truths.
"You know how he is. He always sees a situation for what he could make it." She fiddled with her rings. "He told me on Christmas Eve that he wanted to kill them, The Fates. He seemed off, more amped than usual," Dahlia mumbled.
"Are you kidding? He'd never seemed more like himself that night," Xavier replied from across the room. He lounged boredly on the same couch Dahlia had been rudely awakened from.
"He's demented. That's impossible," Draco snorted.
"He has a means to control this timeline," Dahlia warned. "The time turner."
"And a drop of your essence," Eloise added regretfully. Dahlia felt Draco glaring at her and the icy prick of disapproval seeping through their bond.
She looked at him ruefully. "I just wanted him to be protected, so I made him a ring from my blood. You are Fate-touched, he is not."
Draco's eyes remained steeled. His anger refused to settle, so she added, "I think we should only be thirty percent concerned about Theo's actions."
He clenched his jaw and inhaled slowly. Dahlia knew he was more angry that she had given him one more thing to worry about, not that he was jealous.
"I'm so pleased Eloise makes good decisions," Xavier sighed in adoration.
Eloise flipped her gilded auburn hair away from her face as she leaned down to grab yet another book from the disorganized shelves. "Honestly, twenty percent now that he's preoccupied with orders from the Dark Lord," Eloise confirmed.
"Ninety-nine percent once he realizes you two are fucking," Xavier quipped, taking a loud sip of coffee. Eloise grabbed a small journal off a shelf and threw it at him angrily.
A smug grin replaced Draco's cold fury. He placed his hands behind his head as he smirked in Xavier's direction and nodded proudly.
Dahlia's face twisted in disapproval as Xavier exclaimed casually, "darling, is this what you were looking for?" He held up the tiny, mangled journal to Eloise.
A list of symbols and scribbles covered the entire page. Dahlia froze as Eloise raced over to inspect the journal. She flipped through the ink-stained pages. The room fell tense as if she was on the brink of solving a puzzle. Eloise turned her eyes up, suddenly serious. "Is this your mother's handwriting?"
Dahlia stood and hovered over Eloise's shoulder. She slowly nodded. "This is it. How did she-"
"Take off your shirt." Eloise tugged violently at the hem of her sweater.
Dahlia thrashed and struggled to pull away. "What happened to the drawing you made!"
"I gave it to Theo! Remember? He never gave it back," Eloise answered.
"Fucking hell." Draco rubbed his eyes as he stood, frustrated that he had been out of the loop once again, and angry at himself for underestimating Theo.
"Alright! Fine!" Dahlia stopped flailing and slipped her sweater off. The black ink swooped and whirled beneath the sheer fabric of her bralette. They both sat on the thin, worn carpets as Eloise inspected her markings.
"Turn around!" Draco ordered as he smacked Xavier across the back of his head.
He returned an incredulous look as if he found Draco's possessiveness unwarranted and unrefined. Xavier slowly smirked. "You're almost as bad as Nott." He knew the comparison would get under his skin.
"Trust me, mate. I'm worse," Draco replied.
Dahlia narrowed her eyes at Draco in irritation. She had bunched up her sweater and held in front of her chest as Eloise began attempting to match symbols from the journal to the markings on her left rib cage.
"Get a quill," Eloise said, quietly in awe. A slow grin of victory rising across her face.
Draco dug around the shelves until he found an old pen and a half-used piece of parchment. He sat down next to Eloise and began recording letters as Eloise translated the alphabet of symbols with the found journal. Dahlia watched as Eloise's face lit with joy from discovery while Draco's was weary of what might be revealed.
"This makes little sense," Draco sighed.
"Try reading it right to left instead. Dumbledore said the magic that bore the marking seemed ancient."
Draco scribbled furiously as Dahlia's stomach flipped with anticipation. Even Xavier sauntered over to squat down next to Eloise on the brink of revelation.
"I was right," Eloise mumbled. "It's nearly a story," she said breathlessly, reading over Draco's shoulder.
As Draco rearranged the letters, Dahlia flipped through the old journal. Upon closer inspection, she concluded that her mother had traded her own blood for such knowledge of the ancient tongue. Tiny dark flecks splattered the margins. Dahlia bit her lip with worry as she landed on the last few pages. It seemed she had been lost in prophecy and had fallen into a trance.
"The last descendant shall slit the veins of the void," she read aloud under her breath. She squinted as she read the final barely decipherable word, "the prince…"
The word zig-zagged as if her mind had gotten lost in the fragments.
One word repeated dozens of times across the final pages: annihilation .
It was indented into the page as if her mother had written with a death grip, terrified. She ground her teeth as her stomach danced with nausea and forewarning.
"I think this is as close as we are getting it." Draco handed the parchment to Dahlia. She jolted as she was pulled out of her thoughts. He narrowed his eyes, noticing her startle.
Dahlia read the tale inscribed upon her skin:
A woman of wisdom and gold yearned to be one with the stories she told. Yet she lay chained to the clouds, forever bound in an eternal shroud. When night poisoned her fairest creations and tales, she fell through time and crossed the veil. As she grew tired and was lost in the infinite sea, the daughters wept and made a binding decree. Born from soil of stars, souls marred. The purest of bloods intertwined and fated. In the falling dusk, balance they reinstated. Shard of time, eyes unbound. Bones of fire, death crowned. With life taken, the heir awakened.
"It's a poem of sorts," Dahlia said. "It's nothing we don't already know. It only confirms what we witnessed last night," Dahlia groaned, throwing her sweater back on.
"It's written as if it has already happened," Eloise said with curiosity.
"Because in the eyes of a higher power, it has. We experience time linearly. Themis and her Fates can change any moment of time — and view, or experience, the consequences all at once."
"And you're descended from one of the three Fates?" Xavier asked, flipping through a copy of the textbook Draco had left on her bed all those months ago. He began to pace.
"I believe so. The book was written almost a hundred years ago. We stopped recording births, obviously." Dahlia side-eyed Draco's dark mark, insinuating the threat of persecution seers faced from powerful wizards was too great to risk.
"And Theo has been obsessively researching The Fates?" Xavier asked, reaffirming it more to himself.
Eloise and Dahlia nodded as Xavier narrowed his eyes. He had finally grown intrigued after lounging all day. "So assuming the Fates are real, and immortal — theoretically, what would happen without them?"
"It would be chaos, directionless. There would be endless free will for darkness to thrive," Dahlia replied.
"Darkness?" Xavier raised a brow in confidence. "And you've seen thousands of lifetimes, and other realities?"
"What are you insinuating?" Dahlia asked, vexed by his demeanor.
"That they no longer exist, Dahlia. Have you seen them? Heard them? A thousand realities seems like chaos to me."
"I've heard-" Dahlia realized she had only heard the whispers of her ancestors and the voice of her own mother. She was certain the Mother herself, Gaia, had given her the knowledge last night.
"You just said it yourself, the consequences of a future action made by a higher power could be experienced all at once. I'd imagine the death of The Fates would have a ripple effect, especially if no one was there is keep the constructs of the past."
Dahlia sat in silence as her mind raced.
Xavier eyed both her and Eloise and continued, "and I'm sure Theo has not once divulged what he may have uncovered about The Fates?"
They looked to each other cautiously.
"Told you this wasn't a problem for him despite his jealousy?" His eyes flashed between Dahlia and Draco. "Didn't want you asking yourself, or him, too many questions?"
Dahlia felt suddenly defensive, but couldn't find a proper rebuttal. She looked to Eloise whose face was written in betrayal. She had spent hours with Theo thinking they had a common goal, and they were equally sharing their research.
Xavier's tone turned gentle. "You handed him everything you knew without question, El. And he gave you nothing in return."
"He left me because of the Dark Lord," Dahlia finally answered shakily, as if she knew it wasn't the full truth. She knew she was lying, mainly to herself.
Xavier shot her an unbending glance that reminded her of what she had just said earlier, that nothing was ever enough for Theo — including their relationship.
Draco reached for her in case she threatened to fall apart.
She shied away from him, leaning into her anger. She could kick herself for believing he would be so honest. She shook her head. This was all beyond ridiculous.
"He's not going to kill any higher power. He's incredibly smart and clever, but he's still just a young wizard. It's impossible. If The Fates are dead, then whoever murdered them must have also been powerful."
"But you agree?" Xavier grinned, satisfied that she had confirmed his own discovery.
"The Fates are dead."