An echoing scream awoke the portraits of the grand staircase.
Dahlia collapsed onto one of the many landings of the ever-changing stairs. The sensation was sudden, and so blinding that she had fallen harshly into an unexpected pocket of space, skinning her knees against the stone floor as she fell, unable to stand.
"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she mumbled under her breath, clawing into the rough stone beneath her palms. She had meant to apparate to Ravenclaw Tower but must have been too unfocused — flustered from Draco. She had fallen through the bends of space, tripping and flailing as she had tried to grasp her desired location.
Her mind clouded, overwhelmed with the crossed signals from the shocking pain.
I'm okay , she thought. It's okay.
She reached for her stomach and hissed, grinding her teeth in agony.
Something was amiss; absolutely wrong.
She pulled her shaking hand from her throbbing side, looking down at her palm. Crimson blood rolled silently down her wrist. It was all too quiet, she realized; the stairs were shifting, stone brushing stone without the sound of footsteps upon them, her soft cries echoing.
Her head grew light — that was her blood. Spilling out.
Her skin prickled with realization. She had splinched herself, time cutting her open wide.
—
A Gryffindor prefect hurtled towards the resounding scream, steps heavy with irritation. The portraits had warned him there was a girl on the landing that led to the Faculty Wing.
"She fell from the air like a hell-raising comet!" They muttered hysterically.
"The end is near!" A painted woman screamed, gathering her things within the painting in a panic.
"Hurry, you fool!" A man wearing the skin of a bear called down to him.
The prefect rolled his eyes, then hushed them to go back to sleep. It was far past curfew, and he was wrapping up his shift. A disturbance at this hour was simply rude. He couldn't wait to write her up.
He paled, stepping onto the landing. His annoyance slackened.
The girl looked up at him with wide eyes in a shaking shock and an outstretched hand. He heard the blood drip from her palm in the hush of the evening and the absence of students. The splatter in the night was his clarity, springing him into action.
He stumbled over to her as blood bloomed through her clothing. He quickly removed her cloak, assessing the grim situation.
She was injured, losing far too much blood.
He opened his mouth, but the words wouldn't leave. It might not be alright, and he wouldn't lie to her panic-stricken eyes.
"I'm, I'm sorry," she mumbled through broken shock.
The Gryffindor prefect billowed to the railing, cloak lifting in the sudden draft. He called over the landing for help to other prefects either below, above, or anywhere as the stairs rotated. He begged someone, anyone, to find a professor.
—
Dahlia tried to stand as the fatigue weighed her bones. She couldn't get in trouble. She just needed to find Theo or Xavier, who was skilled at healing wounds. Theo was still awake, most likely roaming the castle past curfew as she did.
He would know what to do.
She reached for her journal and quill, which had been strewn about on the landing. Her stomach twisted, wringing out more blood as she crawled towards it. The pain was searing, nearly blinding.
The Gryffindor prefect rushed back and kneeled beside her.
"Stay put," he ordered in a firm tone. His eyes were wild despite his effort to maintain a cool, collected front for her sake. "I've called for help."
"No, please! Don't!" She cried, eyes panicked. She couldn't get caught. Her father might come for her.
She kicked him away with great effort. She pulled herself to the journal, dragging her bleeding frame across the stone, leaving a trail in her wake. Her vision blurred, and she bit her lip in gut-wrenching pain. She clutched the quill, but her hands were shaking horribly.
She couldn't write to him. She whimpered, growing desperate.
"Find Theodore," she grunted on a loose breath. "Theodore Nott."
He turned back to her, stilling as if she was Death. The prefect stepped away from her nervously, the situation darkening as he realized who she was — the men who answered to her.
"Or-"
"You're Dahlia Aldair ..."
He raised his hands, proving he hadn't done this and wouldn't be held responsible if she spilled out entirely. He wouldn't be forced to face the wrath of the ministry or, worse, the gilded knuckles of a Nott. He shivered, thinking what she might mean to Draco Malfoy as rumors breathed.
"Please," she begged him.
Dahlia brought her hand to her protective necklace and beckoned it to heal her.
She was amid deciding if she was better off removing it altogether and begging the ether to heal her instead when Professor McGonagall and a Slytherin prefect rushed over to her bloody puddle of misery.
"Miss Aldair? What happened?" She asked urgently, her anger slipping to dire concern.
"I think I've been splinched." Dahlia's voice cracked in pain.
She could've cried; the professor would be her doom. She pocketed the journal quickly in a haze, not willing to risk it being taken from her.
"Wake Madame Pomfrey immediately," McGonagall ordered calmly to the Slytherin prefect.
He hurried off as Dahlia began to violently choke. Her neck was burning, the small jewel within it refracting brightly off the candlelight. The skin beneath the golden chain around her throat was now raw. She squealed and kicked. It was suffocating her. She finally retched it off of her neck, breaking the clasp.
A moment of relief was found as she took in a large breath, but it came at the price of tremendous pain. Dahlia gripped the side of her stomach as she looked down, gasping for air. She was dizzy, fading at the periphery. She placed her hand on the cold stone and slipped, smearing her own blood like paint. Her mind danced at the sight.
I'm bleeding out, she thought. I'm dying.
A voice in her heart was relieved — she could finally be with her mother after all this time. She didn't have to do this alone. She didn't have to do anything. It would take courage to stay instead.
She thought of the laughter of her friends and what she might take away from them if she wasn't brave. She tried to summon strength as a last attempt to save herself, reaching desperately into her new, bottomless pit of moldable power that she ignored, terrified to touch.
Heal me, she prayed.
A gale slung through the castle in answer. The portraits screeched, their cries reverberating through the tower in a terrified symphony. The air chilled, breaths visible in the draft. The darkness was sentient.
Dahlia's eyes threatened to roll back. The floor was no longer the beige stone of Hogwarts Castle. Her smeared blood was now upon smooth and black stone.
She looked up in horror, sensing she was not alone. A handsome stranger, built with arrogance, peered back at her. A shadow in the night, moonlight fearing.
The man bent down, inches from her own dirt-smudged face. She wore nothing but a silk nightgown that was so very similar to what she wore in her dreams with Draco.
"He was right about you," the stranger purred.
He reached out, wishing to touch her as if it might heal him too. His hand brushed through her knotted hair. He was dressed in all black and smelled like summer's rain.
He was so close. Her gut whispered he was dangerous. A threat. A wolf in finery.
Dahlia attempted to scurry away from him upon the cold marble, but she couldn't. She had been chained to the floor with iron shackles — no, she realized, obsidian.
This place had been constructed for her — for her Sight.
She glanced around frantically.
It wasn't real, she reminded herself. It's not real.
The stranger grazed his fingers over her side, where her marking was hidden beneath thin fabric. He knew, his eyes dancing with possibilities.
He clasped his hands near his lips in contemplation, then stood.
He was tall and broad. His curls reminded her of Theo's despite their darker shade. His eyes were somewhat similar, but the stranger's eyes were far more rounder, yet they shared an equally menacing gleam.
He grinned, towering above her and coming to a conclusion. He readied his wand, hesitating as he prepared to cast something brutal. Dahlia knew that pause. The pause of concentration to find the will to mean something horrible.
Dahlia flinched in anticipation, terror-stricken and bracing for pain. It never came. Instead, she was falling through the floor that had quickly dematerialized. She tumbled out of her vision and downwards through nebulas. Phantom hands reached through columns of stardust so as to slow her fall or capture her in their world.
Voices wailed, but there were too many — she couldn't make out the words. She sensed she was hurdling back into her body. She braced herself to land on the stone floor of Hogwarts — home — but instead found her physical frame contorting among a plush cot.
Her eyes rolled forward, and she gasped for air.
Professor McGonagall was kneeling beside her, wiping away sweat from her forehead with a grave expression. She hushed her tears.
Dahlia took in her whereabouts. She was in the Hospital Wing. McGonagall nodded to Madame Pomfrey, confirming she may begin. The nurse closed the linen curtains around her cot and went to lift her shirt to inspect her wound. Dahlia looked down at her own skin. The grisly gash was just below her oracle markings and ended near her navel. It had managed to heal itself slightly, but not enough.
The nurse stilled, eyes widening at the inking upon her. She looked away sharply as if it was too abominable to lay eyes on.
She glanced to McGonagall for guidance.
Her professor made no move either, horrified. Dahlia went to pull her shirt down, feeling suddenly shameful.
McGonagall gently took her hand and whispered, "It's alright."
Madame Pomfrey began mending her skin as McGonagall stood from her cot and whispered to the Slytherin prefect beyond the curtain. "Wake Professor Snape, as well."
She was only briefly aware she had just fallen into a vision in front of her professor.
"Please," she begged through exhaustion. "Please don't tell," she cried.
"Tell who?" Her professor quietly asked as she bent down next to her cot again, taking her hand.
"My father," she whimpered.
Tragedy broke across McGonagall's graceful face. Dahlia wondered for a moment if her professor had known her mother and possibly the awful end she had come to at the hands of her father or if everyone just assumed he was an awful man.
She sighed, "You should be dead, Miss Aldair. You splinched your stomach right open. Apparating is advanced magic." She shook her head with disapproval.
She heard thundering footsteps approach. Professor McGonagall whisked out her wand and cast a spell over her markings as Dahlia couldn't find the strength to move. She was sweating and breathing shallow.
A ghost of her marking appeared amongst the thin air. McGonagall stood and exited through the curtain with her marking projected from her wand.
She heard her shakily whisper to Professor Snape. "Severus, what dark magic is this? Its signature is ghastly."
There was a long silence as Dahlia assumed he was evaluating the symbols. He cleared his throat. Dahlia felt nauseous with anticipation as she awaited his answer.
"Indeed, the aura of the symbols belong to the dark arts. But Minerva," he paused, "who was in possession of this? This magic..."
His words died, but Dahlia understood as it lived in her. It was a bone-shivering darkness, ancient and reverent. She was a vessel for something long forgotten. A covenant between man and gods slumbered inside her.
"We will need to consult Albus."
There was an undercurrent that Dahlia couldn't quite decode.
"This is etched into the skin of Miss Dahlia Aldair, Devereaux's daughter." Professor McGonagall sounded as if she was covering her mouth in horror or grief.
Dahlia couldn't make out the rest of their hushed whispers. The black depths of exhaustion consumed her.
—
Theo strolled into the Great Hall, eager for breakfast. Snow drifted just beyond the castle. It was a beautiful winter's day. He wondered if Dahlia would want to go sledding later on. He didn't bother looking around the hall for her bouncing blonde hair. She hadn't written back in her journal this morning. She was most definitely still asleep.
Gods, that woman slept an ungodly amount.
He stole an apple from the hand of a second-year Slytherin boy as he passed. He threw his book bag down and took a seat with some fellow members of his quidditch team. It landed with a full thump as he had several difficult classes today stacked back to back. He was in a dreadful mood about it.
At least Dahlia is in my Defense Against the Dark Arts class, he thought positively.
"Nice goal yesterday, Nott!" Zacharias Smith, a Hufflepuff student who frequented their parties, yelled from across the room.
He waved and nodded back in acknowledgment. The girls next to Zacharius grinned. Theo eyed them, fighting the urge to wink, knowing Dahlia would hate it. He turned back to his table.
He was discussing quidditch stats when he overheard a fellow sixth-year talking too loudly.
Fucking annoying.
He glared over to find a fellow Slytherin yelling animatedly to a large group of students belonging to various houses. He was a prefect named Colin, Theo remembered.
"There was blood everywhere. So much it was running down the stairs! It was a grim sight. It quite honestly made me a bit queasy. Professor McGonagall went to help her, and she practically went catatonic. The portraits howled! It was sick — terrifying," he sang with dramatics.
"The screams woke up half of Gryffindor Tower. Everyone claims to have had nightmares," a fifth-year girl whispered.
"Do you think she was cursed?" Someone asked quietly.
"More like brutally slashed and in shock, if I had to guess," Colin shrugged.
"Well, her father definitely has enemies. Plus, the company she keeps," a Gryffindor girl whispered with an accusatory lift of brow.
Ice slid down Theo's spine. He stood from his seat and yelled down the table, "Oi! Who are you talking about?"
The gossiping seized. The students shifted uncomfortably, noting Theo wasn't smiling or bantering, which meant something vicious was brewing beneath his calm demeanor. The group seemed to hold their breath. They glanced at each other nervously.
Theo no longer needed an answer.
"Where is she?" He asked too calmly. An ocean of cruelty lay beneath the surface of his tone.
"I, uh, I think she's still in the Hospital Wing. That's where we took her last night," Colin answered, steadying his voice.
Theo stiffened, then sneered at him as he snapped entirely. He stood, and Colin flinched as he barreled towards him.
"You didn't think to tell me? You'd rather announce how much of a blood-scared bitch you are to your little girlfriends?
Theo took him by the throat. "Send your last fucking prayers, Colin. I'll soon have you mopping your own blood off the floor," he spat as he threw him back with only the tip of his fury.
He stalked away from the Slytherin table, his rage seeping into his magic as the silverware shattered on the table as he left.
He strode directly toward the Hospital Wing, singularly focused on finding her. His mind raced with possibilities as to how she could have gotten hurt. He had walked her back to her common room last night. She had written to him in her journal into the late hours of the evening.
"Move," he demanded, throwing a Gryffindor he had never seen in his life out of his path and into the wall. The sea of students began parting for him as he urgently hunted for Dahlia.
Moments later, he finally entered the Hospital Wing. It was filled with the brilliant morning sunlight — a definite contrast to his mood. His eyes landed on Dahlia, who was seated in a cot, sipping her morning tea as Juliet held her hand. His anxiety dampened almost immediately when her head turned, and she smiled at him.
She's okay, he thought. She's fine.
It was who surrounded her that kept his heart racing.
The professors turned to face the entrance of the Hospital Wing as they heard him billow in. A hushed silence blanketed the room at his presence.
"Hello, Theodore," Professor Dumbledore said pleasantly enough with folded hands.
Snape sneered at him. Professor McGonagall and Professor Trelawney were huddled by Dahlia, doting on her. Eloise and Juliet sat on the edge of her cot, holding her hands.
Dahlia motioned for him to come forward.
He obeyed, smoothing out his aggressive pace and masking his dismay. He approached her with a soft smile as she remained seated. He wrapped his arms around her shoulders to give her a quick and comforting hug, then leaned against the stone wall.
He nervously shoved his hands in his pockets, uncomfortably aware of Snape's glare.
"I'm guessing you had something to do with this, Nott? I've seen you apparate haphazardly around this castle in laziness."
"Allegedly," Theo quipped, correcting Snape. "And I do not recall, professor." Theo wore a dubious expression, masking mischief.
"Don't. Lie to me," Snape replied, glaring with irritation.
Theo's thoughts spun, taken aback by the entire situation. He had not been present for whatever had occurred last night, but he contemplated taking the blame however he could if he could gather enough clues.
He was still in thought when Dahlia spoke.
"No, I was outside the castle after curfew. I wanted fresh air. I was writing by the Black Lake when I got spooked. I tried to apparate in a panic back to my dormitory, but I didn't make it — obviously." Her voice was rough, tested.
Theo sighed and ran his fingers through his mess of hair. She had splinched herself. A wave of nausea crashed into him. He was the one who had made her confident enough in her abilities to apparate and look where it had gotten her.
"While this calls for disciplinary action, this is not why I've called upon you, Albus." Professor McGonagall sighed sternly.
She projected a ghostly copy of Dahlia's marking from her wand.
Theo's eyes flickered with horror at their discovery, but he kept a cool stance.
"This was found inscribed into her skin near the wound. I think she's been cursed, Albus. This is the second student this semester..."
Professor McGonagall was shrill with worry. Snape eyed him, daring him to speak on Malfoy's behalf only if he wished to find an early grave. It was Malfoy who had cursed Katie Bell, and Snape must have known it too.
Dumbledore ran his fingers over the projection in awe. Professor Trelawney wept and reached for Dahlia's hand.
"Curse or charm, this magic is not quite of our world, if that's even probable." Dumbledore pulled out his own wand and twisted it within the projection. "It is ancient," he said wondrously.
"It is the word of the Divine. The tongue of our Fates," Professor Trelawney whispered, sobbing in reverence as she gripped Dahlia's hand.
"Obviously," Theo bristled, rolling his eyes in annoyance at Professor Trelawney's grand display. He, along with Dahlia and Eloise, had guessed as much as they had been searching for a way to translate it for weeks.
Professor Snape slapped him across the side of his head with a textbook for his blatant disrespect. Theo didn't flinch. He sneered back at his professor.
"My darling child is a seer!" Professor Trelawney wailed emphatically.
"How did you obtain this marking?" Professor Dumbledore asked Dahlia. There was no accusatory tone in his question.
She shifted uncomfortably, locking her lips.
"This is a safe space, Miss Aldair," he urged her to answer him.
"I cast a spell I found that would amplify my Sight. The marking emerged shortly after," she replied with stiffness.
Theo was relieved that she was leaving out several details, especially the ones that would most likely get her expelled.
"How curious," was all Dumbledore muttered in response.
"I'm really- I'm feeling fine," she added, almost embarrassed, waving her hands.
Professor McGonagall tugged on Dumbledore's sleeve, lowering her voice. "Miss Aldair has requested that we do not inform Devereaux of her...injuries."
Theo noted the quick glance of puzzlement Snape shot to Dahlia. It was quickly masked under a guise of irritation at Theo's own expense as he tightened his loose uniform tie to his neck with his wand, almost choking him.
"I would think similarly," Dumbledore answered happily. Any excuse to keep Devereaux Aldair out of this castle was welcomed.
"We shall do our best to find answers, Miss Dahlia," he nodded in promise, bowing politely from where he stood at the end of her bed. He sighed and turned as to suggest they were done here. Professor McGonagall and Snape remained perplexed.
"Very well. Take care!" He exclaimed while he strolled out of the Hospital Wing, his gaze upon Theo with his last words.
Snape narrowed his eyes into a threat, stepping back from Theo. McGonagall pursed her lips, annoyed that the headmaster had taken little action. Theo remained stoic until the professors shuffled out. Once gone, he sat upon Dahlia's cot and pulled her close.
"Are you alright, darling?" He tucked her head under his chin, rubbing her back gently.
She nodded and raised her head to press her lips to his cheek.
"I managed to heal myself somewhat. I-I don't know. Madam Pomfrey mended the rest."
She shook her head. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I tried to call for you. I thought I could do it," she admitted, gripping her mug tightly.
"It's okay, Dahlia. It's fine," he nodded. "What frightened you? When you tried to apparate?" He asked, brushing her bare neck with narrowed eyes.
Her necklace...
"Draco," she whispered.
Theo went cold, his compassion cast out. He raised his eyes to hers, kindness forgotten. He was getting dangerously close to his threshold of what he could emotionally tolerate. He had been collected, suppressing it, and his violence grew restless. He had been good for her, on his best behavior to make her happy, but his own nature begged him to remind them all that he could break their bones.
"Why were you with Draco?" Juliet asked.
She eyed him, studying his body language as she tensed herself.
Dahlia looked at him as she spoke. "I wasn't. I was at the boathouse writing in my journal when he approached me. He was angry. I had my owl deliver the shirt he had left behind during our trip to the caves. I just wanted closure. We haven't spoken or anything since the break, I swear it. I tried to apparate back to the tower, but I must have been too flustered."
Theo wondered what he had done right to earn such unbridled, quick honesty from her. He kissed the temple of her forehead to communicate that he was not displeased with her. She was done with him, finally. Draco was her past.
However, he couldn't bring himself to put together a sweet nothing. His heart was filling to the brim with savage hate.
He stood from her cot. Dahlia held her arms open, pleading with him to return to her, but he couldn't. He furiously exited the Hospital Wing, not risking the sight of disappointment in her eyes.
He needed this, and she needed to understand.
He'd bet galleons that Draco was in the Great Hall right now. He knew his schedule as he knew Dahlia's, afraid they might intertwine. He stepped forward into the folds of space with a crack, then emerged into the enormous hall of students. People coughed as they breathed in the wafting smoke.
He sneered, pulse picking up, as he spotted the familiar gleam of silver hair.
Draco turned, expression unbothered and pretentious as he took notice of Theo. He stood casually between the tables, placing his hands in his pockets.
Theo stalked forth, born and made for moments like this.
Blaise and Xavier quickly stood, having read Theo's demented eyes. They acted on impulse, rushing to hold him back from whatever awful action he had determined was necessary.
They missed as Theo apparated past them with a lightning crack, slipping through their hands as smoke.
He reappeared, standing a breath away directly from Draco.
"Yes, Theodore? That was quite a trot," Draco snickered, encouraging Theo's rage.
Theo shoved him back harshly. He didn't want Draco's bullshit. What he needed was to be done with this. He needed Draco to know his place.
"Did she not make herself clear to you?" He hissed, pushing Draco back as his rage surged forward in wide steps.
Draco grinned like this was the most amusing thing he'd seen all year.
Theo spun his wand between his fingers.
Draco pulled out his own wand, reading the threat like he couldn't care less, but he had played into the careful distraction. Theo roughly sucker-punched him, thrilled to see his favorite shade of red.
Draco spat blood and chuckled darkly, coming back to life after weeks in a grave. He shoved him back, no longer amused. This was a golden opportunity gifted to him for his patience.
"Do it again, Nott. I know it feels good. Let out some of that rage from knowing the only person who has ever loved you is fucking mine." Draco unveiled a nasty grin that could cut ice.
He reveled in Theo's hatred. It had been too long since his last outburst — Theo was overdue. He wasn't better for her; he never could be. His blood was spoiled like milk, just like his father's. This was self-destruction, and Draco called upon the angels to come forth and sing.
Theo couldn't resist. Draco had struck a chord, and the beast they feared began climbing from the bottomless gorge within him. Theo knew Dahlia hated scenes, but he chose not to care now.
He swung, then again and again, as Draco matched his burning heart with his own cold fury. The deep-rooted hatred finally broke through the surface of civility and tolerability they had fronted towards each other for months.
A large crowd had formed as Blaise and Xavier pulled Draco back. Members of the quidditch team managed to hold Theo in place. It was as if they were containing feral animals. The primal rage was blinding, and it took a great deal of effort to drag them apart.
They had finally been physically separated, yet they both reached back for their wands. They cast aimlessly, spells bouncing through the Great Hall. Glass shattered, and cups exploded until they both managed to break free again.
"Depulso!" Draco yelled.
Theo barely managed to block, then cast, "Expelliarmus!"
He had successfully disarmed him. Draco only wanted to cause him pain; Theo needed it. He needed him to suffer for what he had taken so casually, per usual.
Theo wouldn't let him take her as he had taken everything else. Draco would be dead and forgotten before he could have the final word — before he could have her. He was focused, breathing shakily as he strode forward.
I want to see the details of his face for this.
"Do it! You know the fucking spell! Do it, you fucking psychopath!" Draco roared and taunted as strangers held him back.
"You're just like him, aren't you?" Draco laughed, unhinged. "Show Dahlia what she's in for! I bet your mother would have liked a warning," he spat, chuckling in hate.
His own friends stood in front of him, ready to prevent something unforgivable. It would make his fucking day — his year — if Theo cast something ghastly enough to get him expelled or locked up with his father.
Theo shook, jaw sawing as he pushed past those who blocked him.
Several students cried in horrified anticipation as Draco lowered his wand. This was it, and Draco came to terms that he couldn't cast to protect himself. He wouldn't do that to Dahlia — take him from her. He couldn't do it to the person who had stood by him for so long.
Draco wasn't sure what he wanted to live for anyway now. The hope of her?
As Theo strode forward, he found clarity, insane, and smudged. He thought they might both be better off dead, considering what the Dark Lord had planned. Savagery took hold as he gripped his wand with sweating palms. He tasted the blood dripping into his mouth, which only fueled him further.
He could do it. His knuckles pushed painfully against his skin as he tightened his grip. Fuck, he thought. He couldn't do this.
Draco had been nothing but a fracture in his life. He thought he could live with it — live with the shackles wrapped around her heart, but the fracture that was Draco only webbed and grew until their friendship reached a break-point.
How many nights had he spent at the Malfoy manor dining with Draco's family? Draco had been his first friend at Hogwarts, even before. He felt a leveling of devastation at the loss of their friendship. He took the Divine bond between him and Dahlia as a personal betrayal Draco had committed, not just an unfortunate circumstance.
He thought he might die for his friend less than six months ago. Now, he rallied the goodness in his soul that she so wrongly believed was there to keep him from killing Draco. She would hate him. She would never forgive him.
The thought made him want to vomit — but what if their bond was so strong that it would kill her, too?
Theo loosened his grip momentarily when he noticed Amelia crying in terror on the sideline of the crowd. She begged Blaise to move out of the way.
In the moment lost, Lucas managed to pry his wand from his hand. He shook his shoulders and slapped his face. Theo realized his ears were ringing and his reality was vignetting.
Professor Snape rapidly strode into the Great Hall. He pushed past Theo with a harsh brush and gripped Draco viciously.
"Get to your classes!" Snape bellowed. His voice echoed through the hush.
"I will deal with you later," Snape spat, pushing past him again.
The crowd quickly dispersed as he dragged Draco by the arm out of the Great Hall.
Theo felt the air settle of high emotions.
"Take a breath, mate," Blaise mumbled, patting him on the back. "It's okay."
He reeled in his fury. He placed his hands behind his head and paced, taking deep breaths. Students were whispering, their eyes in his direction. They look horrified at what he had almost done.
"It's rumored he's the one who killed his mother," he overheard someone murmur.
He violently cleared the table of cups and silverware, searching for an outlet for his untamed fury. When he spun around, he found Dahlia standing near the doors of the Great Hall, with one hand wrapped around her injured stomach and the other covering her mouth. Her face was a mix of disappointment and trepidation.
He went still when her wide eyes met his. His rage dissipated, leaving behind a hollow shame and a special hate reserved only for himself.
He had done this — embarrassed her, forced her to chase after him in pain.
She cautiously approached him, taking slow steps as she held herself. He made no move to hold her, unable to comprehend comfort with his emotions running so high.
She finally stood before him. He braced for the sting of a slap. The crack in her voice as she held back tears of disappointment at his expense, but she cupped his face and ran the tips of her fingers down his cheeks.
He went still, lost in her serenity. Her fingers softly glided over his neck and came to a halt over his heart. She held her hands there and looked into his eyes with a concerned love.
"It's okay," she whispered.
He said nothing.
She hesitantly wiped away the blood from his face and smoothed back his hair.
"Nevertheless, right?" She reminded him.
He nodded, remembering her words. She would love him, nevertheless.
Shame, a self-loathing, gripped his heart tighter as his breathing became more steady. They stood together for a moment as she silently soothed him, throwing a calming emotional blanket over his inconsolable soul.
"Let's get to class. We're going to be late," she sighed, holding out her hand for him to take.
He took it — he always would.
As they began walking, hand in hand, he rubbed his thumb over her wrist and felt her rapid heartbeat. She had been terrified.
—
Professor Snape shoved Draco violently into his office within the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. He paced, shuffling papers on his desk.
"What is the matter with you? Stop drawing attention to yourself, you fowl child!" Snape accosted him without even glancing his way.
Draco said nothing as he held it all in. He wore a veil of indifference.
He wasn't sure what exactly had triggered Theo so horribly. Dahlia must have told him that he tried to find her last night, but that couldn't be the full picture.
Had she possibly mentioned having feelings for him to Theo? He didn't dare to wish.
Draco had to admit, he hadn't felt that alive in weeks. Their fight had almost been therapeutic. He had been tunneling into his frustration and bitterness endlessly. He was a ghost of himself. Theo's punch had pulled him out of a stagnant state of melancholia.
Shape shoved him against a bookshelf by his throat, only angered by his silence.
"Now I have to wipe up your mess and prevent both you and Theodore from expulsion. Do you know what you have risked? If you are no longer at Hogwarts, then you are no longer of any use to the Dark Lord," he hissed, then he released him gruffly.
"Leave Devereaux's daughter alone, Draco. I see all. You are under my protection, and I do not need him to be displeased with you, as well." His voice was strewn thin.
"I understand," Draco replied tightly.
"Good. Get out." Snape waved to the door with a harsh hand.
Draco wiped the blood from his face with traces of magic and straightened his uniform before entering the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom.
He took a seat at an empty desk. Amelia immediately sat next to him despite Blaise's wishes.
"I'm in no mood," he murmured coldly.
"I just spoke to Eloise, who told me Dahlia splinched herself and almost bled out last night while trying to apparate — away from you," she whispered maliciously.
He stilled. He had hurt her by consequence.
The realization lit his every nerve with dread. He blinked a second too long. Concern wrapped itself around his bitter heart, but he let no tells show. If Theo had the time this morning to chase him down, she was probably okay. This was certainly why Theo had gone for blood.
"It's not my problem that she can't manage a conversation," he replied coldly.
"Madam Pomfrey saw her marking. Now Snape and Dumbledore both know she's a seer, but I guess that's not your problem either."
Amelia was venomous but struck true.
Draco clenched his jaw and bounced his knee as a fresh shot of adrenaline warmed his skin.
Snape knows.
Why hadn't he just told him that he knew? Was he planning to tell the Dark Lord? Was Snape worried that he would attempt something brash, like stop him?
Snape was undeniably loyal to the Dark Lord, but Draco wasn't sure that he would hand over a student for murder. He had protected them on numerous occasions.
Dahlia garnered Draco's attention as she quietly entered the classroom, hand in hand with Theo. His mouth almost dropped as she avoided his gaze.
They sat at an empty desk together in a distant silence. Draco stared at her, intensely evaluating her for any visible injuries. She looked sickly pale, darkness pooling beneath her eyes. She sat straight, posture tense. She looked ahead, waiting for class to start as she removed her robe.
Theo caught him staring at Dahlia. His expression remained unchanged, too concerned with snaking back into Dahlia's grace to care for him now. He placed a hand on her knee and rubbed it gently as he whispered poison into her ear. Draco watched Dahlia turn her head slightly and mouth, "I still love you."
As Professor Snape came out of his office and began class, Dahlia glanced over to Draco. Their eyes met, and she exhaled as if accepting a truth. He resisted a strong urge to reach for her as he balled his hand into a fist.
If he had blinked, he might have missed it — a small, reassuring smile laced with an apology danced across her lips.
—
Dahlia sat with Theo in the Clock Tower.
They watched the massive gold pendulum swing back and forth as they perched themselves on the wooden rafters above it. She noticed Theo's incessant fidgeting.
"Just have a smoke already. It doesn't bother me," she groaned quietly.
"Fine," he replied. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a cigarette. She watched him light it between his lips with wandless magic. He didn't even flick his hand.
She shook her head and looked back to the pendulum. "You're too clever for your own good," she mumbled.
"I thought you loved that about me?" He quipped, raising his brow. All playfulness was abandoned from his tone. It was almost unsettling to see him so serious, voice deeper without his usual lyrical drawl.
She glanced at him once more, then lowered her gaze. She could never meet his eyes for more than a moment when she was upset with him.
"I do. I don't love your temper," she sighed.
"For fuck's sake, you're a wizard. Physical assault shouldn't always be your first instinct." She shook her head, gently ashamed.
He sat back on his wrists, arming his defenses.
"He caused you distress, and I wanted him to bleed for it," he answered simply.
Dahlia knew that was not the truth. He had been itching to come to blows with Draco for a while.
He blew a plume of smoke away from her with a grin that conveyed that her day to hold up her end of the deal had come. She had knowingly dealt with the devil. He had told her before even touching her that he didn't want her to believe that he was kind or forgiving. He would be good to her, even break the stars to give her anything she wished, but this was his price. She had to accept him for worse.
"I warned you from the start that I wasn't a good person. I can try to be better for you, but you cannot mold me into something I am not," he replied sharply, using a snide tone that was usually reserved for everyone but her.
It stung a little. She looked at him incredulously as her own disapproval arose.
"Spare me the bullshit, Theo. You aren't a bad person. You are just terrified to make good choices."
"Good and evil are relative," he chuckled and shook his head. "From my perspective, you've made bad choices too — with him."
He grinned at the irony of it all. He blew out more smoke and looked into her eyes, disheartened and disenchanted. "Will I ever feel completely worthy of you, Dahlia?"
The world had deemed him awful — a demon. She was their bright star, graceful and grateful.
"You are." Her voice softened with heartbreak. "Why would you say that?"
"Do you know how it looks, Dahlia?" He asked rhetorically, then smirked.
"I know you do. People look at us like I've shattered some precious jewel. Like I've ruined their pureblood princess. The ministry darling," he sneered.
"You get all of their approval, and I get everyone's hatred. They think I'm unhinged because I'm simply smarter than all of them. They think I'm a monster from a broken family. People would probably applaud and write articles about it if you chose to be with Draco, even though everyone knows the Malfoys also answer to the Dark Lord as I do...yet they punish me for it..."
"That's not my choice. People think you are unhinged because you have outlandish outbursts of violence. You almost killed Draco today," she leveled.
The words settled as she pushed back with tough love.
"I hate him. I hate what you share," he whispered, words edged with contempt.
"How many times are we going to discuss this? I agreed to sever our bond if it was possible. I wake up and choose to love you every morning. I practically defended your actions today by taking your hand after you did something horrible."
He scoffed, minimizing his actions.
"Bravo, darling! Do you want a medal? For supporting your own boyfriend?" He shook his head, face scrunched with distaste.
"And I don't have to choose to love you," he muttered hatefully as if this notion was the root of his darkness.
Dahlia's face fell. How long had he held back these awful words?
She knew there was no way to break through his wall tonight. She let out a frustrated breath and ripped the cigarette from his lips. She gripped his face, bringing his cruel eyes to hers.
"I will never abandon you. I love you, and your friends love you, even during your hard moments. If you don't feel worthy of me, maybe you should evaluate your actions or stop caring so much about what others think about you. I will always take your hand, regardless." Her words were sharp and pointed. She roughly released his face. She was practically shaking, either from anger or the chill.
He was quiet a moment, too short to be reflective. Her words had fallen on unwilling ears. He took another shot at her.
"That's easy to say when everyone loves you and thinks the best of you. If everyone only knew of the dark magic coursing through your skin," he muttered, lighting another cigarette with an ironic laugh.
"There was nothing left to be ruined by me, was there?"
Dahlia stood, fighting the hurtful blow. She wasn't his punching bag. She had repeatedly voiced her love and support, yet he still threw insults her way to deflect his own self-hatred.
She didn't need this. She had shown him her scars, and he had kissed them all. He had chosen to stand by her once he had seen her truth, that she wasn't so smooth around the edges. He had still loved her as her shine had deteriorated. To weaponize her deepest insecurities only to make himself feel better about his own awful action was despicable. She wouldn't let him damage what they had built anymore for the evening.
She narrowed her eyes, faced with his insolence, as he remained casually lounged.
He tilted his head up to her, pleased with himself.
She scoffed down at him. "You're no better than Draco when you speak to me like this. I don't need people's love and approval anymore, Theo. You showed me that. In fact, I would quite like to be their monster." There was a spited promise in her tone.
She threw his useless cigarette back at him, then walked down the stairs of the Clock Tower. She left him high above, in the rafters.
She made her way back to Ravenclaw Tower. It was still early in the evening, but she desperately wanted to rest and rid herself of this day. Professor McGonagall had pulled her aside between classes, given her detention, and deducted points from her house for being out past curfew. All in all, it was a lesser punishment than she probably deserved. McGonagall had looked at her with such pity after her vision. She probably thought her life's cosmic punishment was enough.
She slowly climbed the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower.
"Go easy on me. I'm tired," she said with heavy breaths to the bronze eagle.
"What has hands but can never clap," the door asked.
"A clock," she answered through huffs.
The door swung open, and she trudged to her dormitory. She entered her room as the moonlight shimmered through the tall windows. It soothed her. She took a long, hot shower and evaluated her healing scar in the mirror. It raised her anxiety to no end that her professors had seen her marking. She wanted to find answers of her own and learn to harness her Sight better before she could be a pawn in someone's game, but it seemed time was running out.
The idea of possibly absorbing another amplifier manifested within her mind as the days passed. However, she had promised herself to translate the current markings she already had before doing so. She would endure the pain again if needed.
She also wanted to visit her mother's resting place. She wondered if she could find any answers there. She had dreamt about it a few times. She needed to get her hands on more of her father's journals, but that would require her going home and facing him, and she wasn't sure if she was ready for that.
Dahlia sighed and pulled down her shirt. She exited the bathroom and sat on her bed. Eloise and Juliet hadn't arrived back yet.
She grabbed her enchanted journal from the nightstand and wrote to Theo:
Tomorrow is a fresh page. I love you. Sleep well.
She hated ending their days on bad terms. They hadn't had a fight in weeks. She put the journal back on her desk, then pulled the bed covers over her. She wondered if all men were so volatile or if that was just her specific taste. She had been riding a high with Theo for so long that this low felt especially difficult to bear.
Despite her restless thoughts, she let the moonlight sing her to sleep.
—
Dahlia looked up to the purple-pink sky and cotton candy clouds and smiled. The warm breeze danced through her hair. She spun around as she took in her magnificent surroundings. She was in the midst of the quintessential Parisian square.
The beautiful pinky-beige buildings swirled up in rounded details and were topped with periwinkle roofs. She was barefoot among the pristine cobblestone and, once again, in a cream silk dress that hovered dangerously close over the line of modesty.
"Is this your dream or mine?" A deep voice inquired.
She spun around and found Draco seated on the edge of an enchanted carousel. Pastel-colored mythical beasts rested behind him. They blinked as if they were alive. He was in a pair of light grey trousers and black dress shoes. His white colored shirt was tucked in and unbuttoned around his neck.
"Draco..."
She forgot how breathtaking he was within her dreams — a heavenly version of himself. His hair showed more silver in the purple-pink hues of the sunset. He smiled at her like a fox. Like Theo did when he was determined to get what he desired.
"Are we in Paris?" She asked him. She couldn't help her grin. She let his presence dance with her soul. It had been deprived of him for so long.
He glanced around unimpressed, and shrugged. "I would assume so."
His gaze landed on her again, his eyes suggesting that he was much more intrigued by the view before him now.
"I've never been. This must be your dream," she answered pleasantly as she stepped closer.
"Would you like to go? I could take you," he asked lightly as if they had no bad blood between them — like their lukewarm memories hadn't curdled over the weeks.
"I doubt it would be this angelic in real life," she sighed as she took a step onto the carousel, brushing past him as he remained seated on the edge.
She attempted to pet a unicorn to see if it would react. To her delight, it shook its golden mane.
She sensed Draco standing and stepping onto the carousel, as well. The air changed, deepened. He stood behind her and leaned his forehead against the back of her hair. He didn't speak for a moment, and neither did she.
"I'm so sorry," he finally whispered.
She knew she was one of the very lucky few who could get an apology from him. It made her grin with triumph.
"I meant my words as they were written. I forgive you, and I hope you forgive me too. There was no disguised meaning or hidden agenda," she answered as she ran her hands over the unicorn's silken coat.
His hands fell to her waist, but she shifted beneath him to communicate that he wasn't allowed to touch her intimately, although she blushed madly. She couldn't bring herself to face him yet, now that they were cutting to the bone — to the root of all her anxiety over the past several few weeks.
"Is that why you came tonight? You know I've been waiting for you for weeks. I wanted to apologize for leading you on," she replied with a trace of bitterness.
He stepped back from her, between the hand-painted, mythical beasts. She finally summoned the courage to turn to face him.
"I came to check on you. I know you were hurt." He was expressionless with his hands in his pockets. He leaned against a silver wyvern.
"Well, I'm fine. Why are you really here?" She pushed for an actual answer. She remembered his rage on the boat dock as he had held up her note.
"Was my note really that enraging to you?" She asked with a bit of heat.
She regretted teasing him the moment she saw a bit of ice edge into his demeanor. He pushed his tongue against his cheek as he fought his aggressive nature.
"Do you think you're above me now? Has your newfound divinity put you seated upon a high horse?" He pointed to the very unicorn she had petted. "I don't need your forgiveness. And to think that you can cut me out so easily is ludicrous," he answered in a sweet calm, too intimately as if they had spoken a thousand times.
His response sliced through the chill and echoed in her heart. He was winter incarnate — his bite would always be brutal despite the delivery. She had retaliated with her own cruel words last time. This time, she motioned for him to come back to her.
He shook his head. "I'm not crawling to you this time, Dahlia," he said smoothly, standing taller and crossing his arms. His expression was made of bitterness, but his eyes told of something deeper. He had been hurting as much as she had.
Had he been holding out all these weeks without as much as a glance?
She couldn't continue on in this limbo.
She let her shoulders relax, then leisurely strolled to him instead. She touched the sides of his face with her palms as her thumbs grazed just beneath his eyes. She looked into their stormy sea of grey.
She finally had his gaze, but she didn't know where to go from here. She had thought through countless scenarios of what she might do if this moment came, but she was silent.
She gently brushed her hands across his face and wrapped her arms around his neck as she stood on her toes to hug him. She breathed in the scent she had missed so much. This was all she had craved.
Draco remembered the last time she had embraced him. It had been on the bluffs after he had seen their lifetimes. He hadn't had it in him to embrace her back then, so he proceeded to wrap his arms around her tightly now. It felt like he had been holding his breath for weeks, and he had finally broken through the surface to gasp for air.
She felt him breathe her in, too. His chest wavered. She wondered if he had been longing for this for quite a long time now.
"I hate you," she whispered into his neck as if she loved him.
She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly in place.
"Just a moment longer," he murmured into her hair.
She closed her eyes and pretended they lived in a different reality. In a different lifetime, where this wouldn't be a dream. She would pull away, and then he would walk her back to their home, where she would tuck their children in for bed, but that wasn't her reality. The sad truth was that he would cast a wicked spell that would stop her very heart that was currently beating against his own right now.
In this reality, she belonged to Theo.
She pulled away slightly and peered into his eyes. His cold exterior had fallen. She fidgeted with her rings and looked down.
"I won't ask for your friendship, but I won't tolerate your cruelty either. I would rather you ignore me altogether. I can't take it," she said softly, referencing how he had yelled at her in the boathouse. It was a painful reminder of where they had started.
She glanced back up to his eyes to read his response. He looked at her intensely as if he was searching for words. Every fiber in her being begged her to lean into his lips and make him her own, but she resisted. She wouldn't do this to Theo again.
A tiny voice asked within herself if it really counted if it was in a dream.
He could sense her anxiety. He cupped her face in an attempt to bring her back to him. She looked into his eyes with sorrow — not for herself, for him.
"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I can't give him up to have you." It pained her to say this so soon after Theo's own terrible actions. A fleck of doubt sprouted in her heart.
"I can wait," he said firmly. He nodded with resolution.
She paused, furrowing her brows. What was he waiting for? Their relationship to fall apart?
She shook her head within his hands and looked away from his gray eyes that she secretly loved so much. She couldn't only make this about Theo. That would be superficial.
"It's not only him." She paused, beckoning the words to leave her mouth. "I can forgive you for having to stop my heart, but I can't give it to you. It'll make it so much worse." Her voice was barely audible.
"Let's just leave," he whispered as he ran his fingers through her hair.
He refused to let her pull away from him. He was terrified it would be the last time he had the chance to hold her.
"I can buy us a place anywhere in the world. I'll empty accounts. It'll be untraceable. You won't need to finish your classes. You'll want for nothing, and we can run forever, and I won't be obligated to the Dark Lord," he whispered feverishly.
"Draco, I won't let you do that to your mother, and they will find us. You also have to understand we have important roles to play," she replied tearfully.
She leaned her head against his chest.
"I won't kill you. I can't, Dahlia. I don't need your forgiveness because I can't bear to do that to you. I won't," he vowed.
She didn't know how to tell him that she suspected it was a happening that the universe would demand. This was an occurrence the universe would always right. She knew it in her soul. The seers had whispered to the stars that loved to gossip so much. She had read every book of prophecies she had available to her at Hogwarts. He would eventually have to kill her, someday and somehow, regardless of choice.
He saw the serenity in her face that she had somewhat come to terms with a future that was still unfathomable to him.
She read the devastation in his grip as he held her close. "You're going to be okay, Draco. Things will get better. You will make it through this."
She peered up into his eyes as she placed her hands on his chest.
"We can find a way. Please, just choose me," he murmured down to her.
She hesitated for a moment as she gazed into his pleading eyes. He took the opportunity to try to bring his lips to hers. She pulled away from him quickly, averting her gaze.
No, she thought nauseously. He couldn't do such things — tempt her.
He grabbed her wrist to stop her from distancing herself. He took a step forward, bringing their chests together again, placing a knee between hers as he pinned her against a pastel unicorn. He felt her pulse beating furiously in his grasp.
He grinned wickedly. She lies so well, he thought.
He brought his lips to her ear. "Stop denying yourself. If you want something, take it," he whispered.
He hovered his mouth over her neck and placed a hand on the small of her back.
She froze, wires crossing as he gripped her just as she had imagined. She felt his hot breath against her neck as his hand slipped downward — too far but not far enough.
Goosebumps peppered her skin. Her mind raced so quickly that she was unable to form cohesive thoughts. Her body had never wanted anything more. The yearning was bone-deep, and she fought the urge to physically shake.
"It's only us here," he whispered silkily. A final temptation.
He brought his hand to gently brush beneath her breast, over the marking that had welded itself into her skin as he had held her. She couldn't stop herself from gasping breathlessly. It was like he had strummed the tether between them with his touch.
He brought his forehead to hers as if he wanted to take her gasp from her mouth.
"Take it," he begged.
She did.
She met his mouth with urgency as she pulled his neck down, crushing his mouth against hers. She moaned wildly as he ran his hands beneath her silk dress and upon her bare skin. He gripped her from behind, squeezing harshly, then lifted her up onto the silver wyvern.
She went to unbutton his shirt, but he gripped her wrist and twisted her arm behind her back. He held her firm as he pressed hot, rough kisses down her neck and across her collarbone.
The strap of her dress fell down to her shoulder. He looked at her in a heated haze as he pulled the strap against her skin until it nearly ripped, leaving a red line. She made to move, but he still kept her arm pinned behind her back. He smirked as if her shifting beneath him was amusing.
He hovered his mouth over her breast, which was just beneath the thin, falling fabric. She pushed her hips forward to wrap her leg around his waist to close the final distance. He stood tall and slammed her knee back down, pinning her legs more firmly with his own.
"Stop it," he whispered harshly into her mouth.
This was a game of power, she realized.
She smirked, leaning away from him as much as she could manage.
"Get on your knees for me," she ordered, smiling awfully.
He gripped her wrist behind her back harder. She hissed as he licked up her neck.
"You think you are something worth worshipping, Dahlia?" He murmured against her jawline as he slipped his hand beneath her dress, tracing up her inner thigh.
"There is nothing I believe in," he chuckled arrogantly. His tone was rich with condescension as he looked down upon her.
She managed to pull her leg free from his grip. She pulled it up to her chest to separate them. "I'm growing impatient, Draco."
"Is this what you need?" He asked, wrapping her leg around his waist. He brushed his hand over where she wanted him most. He felt her wetness and whispered, "Do you taste as divine as you look?"
He brought his fingers to his mouth, then grinned devilishly. He brought his hand back to her center, and she moaned into his mouth as he pushed his palm against her.
"You're my fucking nightmare," he admitted as he slipped his fingers inside her.
She whimpered as he moved in and out of her. She couldn't form words. He was so precise with his movements that it had her quickly sprinting to her high.
"Say you're fucking mine," he leaned into her as he adjusted his grip on her wrist behind her.
"No," she whispered with hate.
He worked harder.
Fuck, she thought. Oh fuck.
She cried out, whimpering into his ear as he curled his fingers inside her.
"Draco...I can't..."
He dug into the flesh of her wrist. "Say it, Dahlia."
"No," she repeated, eyes gleaming with the truth.
He kissed her roughly for lying, and she came undone for him. Her mouth fell open against his, and he took her breath. It was the most beautiful thing he had ever known. He held her tight as she cried and begged for all of him.
The moment she stopped writhing beneath him in bliss, he released her from his grip and pushed her away. He stormed into the distance, more heartbroken than before.
He didn't turn back beneath the wilting stars.