"I hate him."
Dahlia tugged the bronze bow out of her hair for the third time as she sat at the vanity. Cosmetics, books, and hairpins were strewn about in her panic. Time quickly dissipated in her rage, and she overslept.
She reached for her brush and began attempting to tame her unruly hair. She had slept on it wrong. Honestly, she had slept wrong all week. "I shouldn't even care."
"Mphm," she grunted, breaking a sweat as she worked herself up and yanked the brush through a knot.
"You never ask the right questions," she mocked his words from the other night in a high-pitched tone. She had done her best to ignore him, but he had made it quite difficult as he shoved past her in the hall with his ridiculous entourage of half the Slytherin quidditch team, whispering 'traitor' or 'slut'. The idea that he couldn't spare the time to come up with something more creative in that demented mind was more insulting.
She turned to Eloise and Juliet as they styled their uniforms in front of the gilded mirror tilted against the cream stone. "I never ask," she bristled. "I shouldn't have to ask at all!"
Juliet met her gaze in the reflection of the mirror as Dahlia fanned herself. "You're going to make yourself bald, Dahlia. Put the brush down," she answered as she assessed her eyebrows in the mirror.
A ping of shame manifested in her stomach. The past few days had been spent talking about little else besides Theodore, and her friends had given all the advice they had to give.
Dahlia threw the brush on the floor, then gave up and threw her hair in a messy bun atop of her head. She did her best to make it look stylish.
Eloise tilted her head, shoulders falling. "I agree with you, Dahlia. You shouldn't have had to ask if he was stalking you—or betraying you. But, you did always know he was deranged..."
Dahlia stood, spritzing herself with an obscene amount of fragrance. "Have you spoken with him?" Dahlia asked Eloise.
She shook her head with reluctance. "No," she answered coldly. "He's dead to you, he's dead to me."
Juliet placed her foot upon the plush ottoman in the center of the room, disrupting the line of sight between her and Eloise.
"And Draco," she declared while violently tightening the laces of her saddle shoes, "is the right choice."
The room fell silent for only a moment. "Obviously," Dahlia finally agreed.
Eloise clapped her hands twice as if they were preparing for a sporting match, signifying it was about time to leave.
"I'm waiting." Draco's silky voice clouded her mind like sweetened black smoke.
"Well, keep waiting," she snapped back. His sigh was unheard, but she visualized it regardless. He probably sprinkled in an eyeroll, too.
"I'm impatient," he answered.
"A Malfoy? Impatient?" She teased, stuffing her book bag with necessities to survive the day: jelly beans, lip gloss, a romance novel, nail polish for the library later, half a chocolate bar, a water-damaged notebook, a potentially broken quill, and her textbooks.
"You have thirty seconds, Aldair."
"1, 2, 3..." Dahlia smirked as she counted, racing out the door and rushing through Ravenclaw Tower. The door of the common room swung open as she approached to leave. The bronze eagle refused to speak to her and gave her a wide berth even though she had apologized profusely for nearly murdering it. She blamed Theo for that, too.
Juliet pushed past her with a wide grin, hauling down the heights of the coiled staircase, leaving behind an air of primrose. "Wait for me!' Dahlia laughed, bracing herself on the wood railing as she tried to keep up.
She spotted Draco's tousled silver hair in a sea of black cloaks. He was leaning against the banister at the bottom of the stairs as he waited for her, arms crossed impatiently. Her eyes found him, and he bashfully smirked. She shook her head, smiling like a fool. Had his gaze always found her first?
Draco reached for her as she neared the banister, stepping forward to pick her up. Dahlia halted on the second step and held her ground, eye level with him for once.
"You look atrociously stunning today," he sighed as if it pained him, eyes drifting to the exposed column of her neck.
Juliet had launched herself into the arms of Lucas, who had dropped his books to catch her as if he hadn't expected such a display of affection. He whispered into her hair while she stroked through his loose blonde waves, enraptured by him—the steadiness they had seemed to find.
Dahlia quickly shifted her gaze back to Draco.
"Not stunning enough for you to sneak into my bed anymore?" she quipped with a teasing gleam.
He held up her chin. Dahlia stood on her toes to be a hair taller, which earned a chuckle from him. "It's temporary, Miss Aldair. Don't get used to it."
He had spent every free moment of his time in the Room of Requirement, mending that gaudy piece of junk. He would never give it voice, but she knew Theo's return had ignited a competitiveness within him, whether to pull off his task by the Dark Lord as Theo had or be allowed back on the quidditch team by Snape.
He was blissfully unaware that she too had been mending the cabinet as he kissed her jaw. His hands slid around her waist as he lifted her off the stairs and placed her on the floor. Her stomach tightened, wishing they could disappear back to the cabin where everything had been too perfect.
"To class. Now," he ordered lightly with a subtle spank. He took her book bag as they walked down the halls and towards the greenhouses, casually rummaging through it to take inventory.
Dahlia furrowed her brows, but he ignored her. Instead, digging into his own book bag and pulling out a few galleons and a proper quill. "You need proper snacks. Chocolate and jelly beans aren't sustenance."
He tossed the coins and quill into her bag as he assessed its wearing edges and cracked leather.
"You think I'm poor?" Dahlia exclaimed.
He said nothing, eying her with a superior expression that suggested he thought everyone was poor as he shoveled the chocolate bar out of her bag.
"What would you do without me?" He asked, pulling back the wrapper and taking a bite of chocolate. "Starve?" He teased with a full mouth.
Dahlia snatched the bar from his hand, nearly tumbling down the Grand Staircase. "Make better grades, have a bed to myself every single night, maybe even actually marry well."
Draco snorted, holding his head up high with a wink. "I'm as good as it gets, baby."
Dahlia laughed, bumping into his side. "No, you're actually the worst," she teased.
They turned the corner and arrived in the Herbology wing. Draco stepped ahead to open the door for her. "A whole day without you? What will I do with myself?"
On Thursdays, they had no classes together. What had used to be a blessing had become her least favorite day of the week. Dahlia tapped her temple, even though she was nearly positive the bond in their heart was how they could speak within each other's thoughts.
He propped himself against the smudged glass of the greenhouse by the door, holding her book bag hostage so she couldn't enter the classroom.
Dahlia held out her hand to take back her things. "Now you're the one who's going to be late if you linger."
He leaned forward, and she fell within his shadow. "I don't care, and I frighten Professor Trelawney. That crusty bat would never write me up."
Dahlia slapped his arm and leaned closer. "And if Professor Sprout tries to shoo you off?"
"Then you're lucky I strive to maintain a minimal amount of violence in your presence," he whispered with a devilish smirk.
"How chivalrous," Dahlia mocked.
"Mm," he agreed, wrapping a loose strand of hair around his finger. "I love you," he added.
Dahlia finally cracked a true smile. "I love you," she whispered just for him to hear. He handed over her book bag. Dahlia leaned upwards and kissed his cheek, breathing all of him in. Midnight—home.
"Have a good day, my love. Stay out of trouble, and stay away from him," Draco cautioned as he kissed her forehead. "He's not good for your temper," he mumbled against her skin.
She nodded, her gut twisting. Dahlia had told him they had gotten into an altercation the other evening but had conveniently left out the part that she had been returning from the Room of Requirement. Draco knew Theo goaded her in the halls and in class. Still, they had yet to speak properly, pretending the other didn't exist. The tension was a delicately balanced house of cards, waiting for one strong wind to send it crumbling.
She held onto his hand as he sauntered towards the doors of the castle, in no rush for Divination. She watched how students parted for him without a thought; the embodiment of grace in the sway of his step and fluid posture. He carried the perfection she had strived for her entire life so easily. He commanded respect without a crumb of effort.
Dahlia turned with a sigh and entered the greenhouse. A yellowish-golden hue danced around her as she placed her book bag on the weathered, wooden table in the front row next to Juliet and Marcus Belby.
"Dahlia!" He called, leaning forward to wave past Juliet.
Dahlia smiled as she pulled out her textbook. "Hi, Marcus," she answered cheerfully.
"Care to join us for tea later? I've heard many things about..."
He raised his brows twice as his eyes quickly fell to the entrance of the greenhouse. Juliet poked his chest before they both followed his line of sight.
Theo, escorted by Professor Snape, stood just beyond the threshold. They talked quietly before nodding as they reached an agreement. Dahlia watched carefully, a knot tugging more tightly within her heart, as Snape shoved Theo into the classroom. Professor Sprout followed.
Theo made a great effort to avoid her gaze as he strolled towards the back of the classroom.
"No, no, Mr. Nott. Please have a seat in the front of the class so I can better assess your knowledge."
Theo sneered at the professor, and Dahlia searched for any reason to excuse herself from class that wasn't completely mortifying as she took note of the empty seat to her left.
Where is he?
Dahlia searched for Xavier's smug face, who had not so coincidentally abandoned his partner today. She heard his familiar, satisfied cackle from the back of the classroom. "I hate you," she mouthed.
Xavier blew her a kiss as he and Lucas snickered together, reminding her of hyenas.
Theo didn't spare her a glance, a word, as he threw his book bag down on the table and knocked over her empty beakers. He took a seat on the stool, less than a reach away. She rested her cheek in her hand, leaning forward on the wooden table so she wouldn't accidentally look his way.
Professor Sprout began lecturing. On what? She couldn't be sure.
She listened for the bounce of his knee, the tap of his knuckle, but he remained unusually still. She might as well have been seated next to a brick wall.
He finally pushed his hair back from his eyes and crossed his arms. She heard the fabric shifting on his arms and chest.
She held her eyes closed for a moment too long as she fell into his orbit; his air of summer rain, the moss of the bloodwood, cocooning her. His unreadable sigh dripped down her spine like a cold droplet. She took a deep breath and held it, decidedly needing something to do.
Dahlia sat back, pulling out the elastic tie from her hair and reshaping the messy pile of loose curls upon her head. She made a slight jump as Theo coughed violently at her side.
"Now," Professor Sprout clapped her hands, "each pair, please gather your Snargaluff from the nursery. Using the method we reviewed, you'll need to gather three pods from within it."
Dahlia stood quickly, but Theo had already dashed. He stormed towards the plant nursery and snatched a gnarled tree stump from the table. He carried it back, holding it at arm's length as if it were a carcass.
He threw it on the table in front of them, then sat back on his stool. He rummaged through his book bag and pulled out a History of Magic textbook to do homework.
"You're willing to fail the assignment?" Dahlia snapped in disbelief, leaving the rest in her private thoughts.
You're willing to fail the assignment instead of dealing with me.
He angled his head towards her, his harsh glare unsightly, as if he had never cared for her at all. A promise to love her between stars was only a shallow lie. "Write to your father. I'm sure he could pay for you to pass this class."
Dahlia's mouth hung open for a moment.
"Don't speak of my father," she spat, slamming his textbook closed.
He stood in a fury. His stool screeched across the floor, but it was lost in the chattering echo within the glass dome. She was forced to lean back as he towered over her—too close.
"I'll speak about whomever I please, including your drunk of a mother," he whispered, so spitefully she winced.
It cut her wide open, and she grappled to hold herself together. Even if it was true, a well-known secret amongst circles, to hear her mother painted in anything but a pristine light was blasphemy. She was wild and messy, and Dahlia knew her mother would hate that she had followed in her footsteps.
Dahlia shoved him back, and for the first time, he stumbled.
"Move," she hissed.
She snapped on her disposable gloves in a fresh rage. She would earn an outstanding grade on an assignment and then leave him so far behind. Forget that she had ever thought that she loved him—wanted him to hold her at night, wanted him to run away with her, wanted him to fix her.
Theo lunged as she reached for the rotten stump. It shook as it sensed her presence and intention. It hissed from within in warning.
"Dahlia, I didn't mean it," he admitted, grappling with her wrists. She had called his bluff, but that was never the point.
She didn't need him. She had never needed him.
He can't hurt me. I won't let him hurt me.
Dahlia pulled free of his strong grasp in an adrenaline kick of stubborn will. She glared, sending daggers at Theo, damning him straight to hell as she plunged her hand into the center of the gnarling stump.
"Dahlia! No!" He boomed, anger or distress writhing in his features.
The world stilled. Her vision blurred. Then, Dahlia let out a blood-curdling scream.
The stump screeched as it mercilessly protected its pods within it. Vines with razor-sharp thorns wrapped around her hand and up her arm as more spidery roots erupted from the stump and flailed wildly around her. She fought to free herself, but the thorns only dug deeper into her skin.
"Theo!" She cried, begging him to help her with tears in her eyes.
"I'm trying, Dahlia!" He was exasperated, terrified as he tried to gather the hissing vines.
She whimpered as searing pain radiated up her arm, the stump latched to her elbow now. She screamed out as it tightened around her once more, lacerating her skin.
"Fucking hell," Theo growled, gathering three vines and ripping them apart. Blood wept from his hands without so much as a flinch. Pure fury in his eyes.
Professor Sprout gasped in horror. The stump wailed as the vines retreated inside. As the hole opened, Theo stepped close, ripping off the thorned vines wordlessly as they cut through his own skin. Dahlia finally freed her hand and reeled back, stumbling into Theo's chest.
He steadied her by softly bracing her shoulders, leaving a print of blood on her uniform. He stepped away, eyes wild and nearly winded.
"This is why, students, you always follow the instructions!" Professor Sprout's face puffed out, turning red as a beet.
"I'm sorry, pro-" Dahlia started meekly.
"Go, at once! To the Hospital Wing, you two!" Professor Sprout pointed to the door.
Dahlia spun in a circle, holding out her bleeding hand while attempting to gather her belongings in shock.
"I got it," Theo mumbled, swiping all of her supplies into her bag then swinging it over his shoulder. He billowed out of the greenhouse without waiting for her, yet she followed him out of the classroom. He looked over his shoulder as he stormed down the empty halls, finally slowing his pace for her to catch up as if he had half-expected for her to chase him down.
"Are you alright?" he asked quietly when she reached his side. He placed a gentle hand on the small of her back, still masking any true emotion in his features. There was no hate, but certainly no love written in the creases.
She nodded, assessing the deep cuts in her hands. Dahlia looked up to him as he strolled with his head held high in the dim candlelight. "Do you think we failed?"
He grinned wide as if he had missed a more innocent shade of mischief. "I would say we failed, Dahlia." He laughed in earnest.
The deep notes of his laugh fell like a reprieve, a gasp for air in the throws of it. He looked back to find her sheepish smile as he took the stairs two at a time, then waited for her at the landing. In the darkness within the soft light of the inner halls of the castle, she remembered how he had looked in her vision—the No-Name Prince. A prophesied weapon, she had realized, stood before her, waited for her. His handsomeness was enhanced by a trick of the light. His sharp features cut through the shadows as if he repelled them.
"Why were you even in my Herbology class?" She asked as they approached the Hospital Wing.
He answered quickly, maybe even honestly. "Snape is going to give me extra lessons during my old Herbology block."
She grimaced, only imagining the horrors he could teach.
"So you're permanent?" Dahlia asked, staring into his whiskey eyes, which were flowing with both truth and lies.
"For now? For always?" He shrugged as if the question had been too vague to answer properly. "Only you can know the future—that's if you ever decide to be brave enough, but I'll tell you whatever makes you sleep better at night."
She had only meant if he was permanent in class. She hadn't considered if his return to Hogwarts was permanent. Hadn't thought it necessary. Her face fell as he playfully grinned.
He stiffened at her, noticing her crestfallen expression. He masked himself in a cruel aloofness as if her disappointment was all he had been given for such honesty.
Theo strolled into the Hospital Wing as he led them inside. The Hospital Wing was buzzing with activity. First years howled with growing lumps as they ran in a panic, desperate to itch every bit of their skin.
Theo's face twisted into disgust as they noticed one particular boy rubbing his shirtless back against the rough stone of the walls. "Barbaric," he muttered.
Dahlia nodded in agreement. "I think I should look away..."
Madam Pomfrey's assistant spotted them at the doors as they stood in shock, arms, and hands covered in blood. She raced over, concern fresh in her withered lines.
"Oh! My dear, what happened?" She gently brushed the skin of her red and raw hands.
"It's fine. Really," Dahlia answered, although she was in splitting pain. "We can handle it if you have supplies," she added.
"Yes, yes!" the nurse answered, rushing to grab tools to help themselves.
"What happened to the children?" Theo asked, far from concerned but quite fascinated.
"The first-years were learning to fly a broom. One student flew right into a hive of nasty zinger-bees and unleashed them on the entire class. The delirium should wear off soon."
"Oh, how awful!" Theo crooned, sarcasm well hidden. Dahlia could tell by the light in his eyes that he was holding a laugh. She punched his side, which only had his smile breaking into full dimples.
The nurse handed them tweezers, anti-septic, and cloth.
"Thank you," Dahlia nodded, then turned to leave. She walked quickly to escape the chaos of hallucinating first-years.
Theo followed behind. He stopped short as she turned to face him once the doors were closed. "Do you want it? Or should I take it?" Dahlia asked.
He narrowed his eyes, perplexed. He gently took the supplies from her hands, eyes roaring with the hurt that he was no longer the one she wanted to patch her up.
"Come on," he answered tightly. "We need to find somewhere private." Theo lifted his covered, bleeding forearm to signal his reasoning.
Dahlia hesitated for a moment but ultimately followed. She was in a great deal of pain, and she couldn't deny that she had been dying to have a civil conversation. She wondered what he had lied about, what he had been through, what he knew that she didn't yet know.
They slinked through the halls and eventually stepped outside of the castle through a small, hatched door. He held the door as she stepped into a rounded balcony. Stone benches lined the circular wall. Pillars of bleached stone held a dome above them. Dahlia surveyed the spectacular view of the valley, unsurprised that Theo knew every crevice of this castle like the back of his hand.
Dahlia sat on the bench, looking over the ledge as the wind returned to her, blowing loose strands of hair around her face.
"It kept me company, you know?" Theo admitted as he placed the supplies between them.
Dahlia smiled. She didn't reveal that the wind had a soft spot for underdogs. It cared and blew guidance for those who needed it most.
"It's always liked you, but they say the wind is fickle," she sighed.
He eyed her curiously as if he wanted to say something more but held his tongue.
Dahlia held out her hand. Theo laid a cloth over his thigh and took her arm. He placed it on the cloth, then began picking out thorns from her wounds.
They sat quietly, and Dahlia hoped this moment of intimacy was healing him, too. For a few minutes, she let it all fall through the cracks as if the thorns he picked from her skin were a true bloodletting, relieving everything rotten between them. She imagined them here, in this page of time, as different people who weren't so awful.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, breaking the long silence. "What I said about your mum—that was too far."
Dahlia nodded, though unforgiving. She didn't have to be merciful or grateful all the time. Draco had taught her that.
Dahlia sighed, unable to forget the depths of hate in his eyes, too curious for her own good. "Did you mean it?" She murmured.
The wind picked up, dancing between them.
His eyes sparked as he looked up from her healing hand. "About your mother? Of course not."
Dahlia shook her head, and a long pause carried on. Their silence reached for each other, worlds breaking in their eyes as they held gaze.
"Just ask, Dahlia," he breathed, exasperated.
"Did you ever love me? Or did you just love me?" Dahlia motioned around her with her uninhibited hand, pointing to her perfectly polished shoes, the effortfully effortless makeup upon her face, and the Aldair ring too tight around her finger.
"I loved you, Dahlia." He poked her sweater where her heart beat just beneath. "I'll always love you. I meant that promise. Maybe I did love the idea of you at first, but the real you was so much better."
Dahlia thought quietly as he cradled her arm, breathing healing spells upon her skin. "I've always had a habit of chasing things I don't think I deserve—things I shouldn't have."
Dahlia held her response, unsure if he did deserve her and terrified that she might not deserve him either. He would break time for her, hunt the stars, and gift her things thought unattainable. He should be the hero, but here she sat, palm held sweetly in the hands of an outlaw. He didn't feel like the villain, but maybe the worst ones never did.
"What's on your mind, Dahl?" He asked, reading the weariness she kept to herself.
"Why didn't you try to break the magic that binds me and Draco together?" She murmured. The question kept her up at night. Did he realize she wasn't worth it? Did he come to terms with the fact that it wasn't the right thing to do? Stars had to die to be rewritten.
"You had everything," she whispered, remembering how she had seen him desecrate the pool of stars to forge a weapon, knowing that he had every ingredient to change his fate with a deadly potion.
"I could," he shrugged, focusing on removing the last thorn from her wrist. "I even made a new Time-Turner, and maybe I would."
He spoke in the past tense, a reminder that time had become both mastered and meaningless. He looked up to her, his eyes steady as he revealed the truth of his rationale. "It might kill you," he paused before he could reveal the worst of it casually and true. "And I'm not yet sure if that's a risk I'm willing to take."
Dahlia held her breath, chest full of sudden dread. He kissed the last cut, healing it entirely. Disbelief must have been etched on her slackened expression.
"It's your life, Dahlia." He shook his head as if he could hardly believe his luck, holding up his hand. "You gave me years of your life, but I don't know how many."
"No," she breathed. "I didn't do such a thing."
He nodded, more disappointed in her than anything. "You did," he whispered. "And it's exactly what a Time-Turner may require for such a challenge. Isn't that serendipitous? Or perhaps done by a new Fate?"
She shook her head, thoughts becoming a blur.
"You always meddle in magic before you fully understand..."
The wind blew wicked yet warm, and he tucked a whitened streak of hair behind her ear. He had always loved the more golden strands in her hair. He pursed his lips as if angry she was something to mourn, angry that she had changed too much.
"What happened here?" He whispered, sensing the vastness between them.
Dahlia shook her head, afraid to reveal much of anything until she could sort her thoughts. Everything had changed.
"Will you meet me tonight if I promise to tell you everything I know?" He asked, grinning hopefully like a wolf.
Dahlia nodded, bracing for the worst.
"Meet me just past midnight?"