The world crumbled and rebuilt.
Dahlia stepped through the wrinkle in space and time of her making with a crunch of morning dew beneath her leather boots. The purity of her glittering smoke harmonized with the tender whirls of fog. The early light caught the lighter shades within her emerald eyes as she turned to Draco, dropping his hand.
She gripped her own with a fleeting smile.
"You can wait if you would like." She shifted her weight, eyeing the rusting gates behind her. A sea of rising stones beyond the iron fence awaited.
Draco narrowed his eyes, insulted by the assumption that he might prefer to wait. He placed his hands within his tan wool coat and shook his head.
"No."
She nodded slowly, pressing her lips together. Her skirt swung as she turned on the heel of her boot. Unable to look at the arched entrance of the graveyard, she chose to squint directly at the sun. It quickly urged her eyes downward to the cemetery, but the steps wouldn't come. She stood frozen in place.
After a moment, Draco placed a gentle hand on her lower back.
"She doesn't really dwell here all alone," he whispered, nose against her temple.
"Because she lives here." He placed a hand on her chest.
"And here," he murmured, kissing her forehead.
She found a soft smile as dead leaves raked across the broken pavement in a rueful wind.
He returned a delicate grin. Dahlia cherished it, letting his encouragement strengthen her onyx bones. His gentle kindness was rare but spectacular.
Looking ahead, she slowly strolled into the graveyard. Her balled fists found the bottom of her pockets.
Draco lingered a step behind, watching the bounce of her blonding hair. The new, whitened streaks starkly contrasted against her long black coat.
They cut through the fading mist as they quietly walked up the winding dirt path that twisted through small hills and waves of weathered stone.
They came to a cross in the road. The path split around a frost-bitten magnolia tree. Draco followed as Dahlia took neither. Instead, she veered left into mostly barren hills. He heard her small huffs ahead as she trekked uphill to the center of her world.
Finally, they arrived at her mother's grave.
Dahlia halted at the edge of the square pond. Its walls were lined with thick, grey stone. In the center, a carved woman draped in roused fabrics stood perched upon a stone slab. It was intricately carved and large enough to lay one to rest. The guardian of the grave had holed eyes and elegant, outstretched wings. The woman poured a pitcher into the pool below even though she held a chalice.
She had only been here once before — the day her father had carved this very grave from the earth and laid her mother to rest with the turning of his wrist.
Her father had wanted her mother to be buried with all the elements. The wind could dance upon the water's ripples, and when the moon was high, its light peered through the guardian's eyes like silver flames upon the surface of the pond.
Dahlia sat on her knees, falling beneath Draco's shadow. Her shoulders fell with the exhale of a deep breath. She had expected more tears and the same slickening nausea as when she had stepped foot into her mother's house.
Instead, her features fell soft with the calm beats of her heart. The wind blessed her peace, kissing her flushed cheeks. She tilted her head back slightly, leaning into it as if it were her mother's embrace.
The rustle of the distanced barren branches nodded, confirming the worst was over. They had endured fourteen seasons watching over the visitorless grave — grief blooming and withering in a cycle, like high and low tides.
Her mother had died on the longest day of the year, and it had taken the passing of seven more solstices for Dahlia to finally understand that things would never be the same, but they would get better — easier. She would be alright, and she would someday mean it when she told others she was fine.
Graced in his shadow, she discovered she was deserving of happiness without the binds of destructive guilt.
She hadn't wanted to return to her mother's home without the lively heat of summer — afraid it would be the cold death, the true end of the happiest chapters of her life.
But it hadn't proven to be the end. Instead, the healing passage of time had been revealed. The windows that shut and the snowbirds that fled for winter would open and return soon enough for another summer. Beauty could be found in the harshest winters, too. Life moved on, and she had to find the strength to fall into step with it or risk becoming a fading ghost stuck in the past.
She let the revelation mend the deepest of her cracks without condemnation for wanting to find true joy again. To stay stagnant, avoid peace, and deny her worth would only condemn her to be someone she could never grow to be proud of.
There was a purpose to be found in the lull after the storms of grief.
Hands rested in the grass; Dahlia began to sink her fingers into the dirt. She lifted the clumps, and with a sweet mumbling, she slowly released them from the palms of her hands.
As it cascaded through her fingers, the wind carried the falling earth with the magic on her breath. The dirt transformed into blooming primrose as the breeze placed each flower gently into the pond that surrounded her mother's stone grave.
She brought a flame to her fingertips with a snap. She grinned, remembering Theo — his showmanship had been contagious.
She glanced to her right as Draco kneeled down beside her on one knee. The rays of the sun finally found her in the absence of shadows.
"Need help?" He asked in a low, giving voice.
She shook her head with a faint smile.
"Luxsempra," she cast without a doubt.
She blew a full breath through pursed lips. The tiny orange flame fluttered to the feet of the stone woman, then ignited in a timeless white. It would burn for as long as Dahlia lived. She placed her hand on top of Draco's upon his knee. She squeezed tightly and leaned into his chest as she watched the flame burn.
He wrapped an around her shoulder, eyes forward.
"What will the muggles make of it?"
She sighed thoughtfully before answering.
"They'll say it's haunted or holy. They'll wonder who was buried here — make up a legend."
She shrugged and reached for a floating primrose. She stroked the soft petals in her hand.
"Hopefully, one where she was a devoted mother. Maybe they will say the love of her life couldn't bear to be without her, and in his loss, a piece of his soul was left here at her feet...I believe she deserves a better story than she was given."
"I'm sorry," Draco whispered.
She returned the rose to the pool of water.
She shook her head. "Don't." She was firm, no longer needing sorrows from others.
The condolences had all dulled and blended into an empty, useless puddle at her feet during her early grief. The outpouring of support had dwindled anyway as if the loss had been something she should have moved past by now.
She peered into his somber eyes and smiled, grateful he had said it, though. Hardly anyone did anymore.
A tear slipped, rogue in nature, at the sincerity of his acknowledgment that this was still her tragedy, and that was okay. There was a promise in his eye that he would never forget she had lost something so precious. She quickly wiped away the tears with a falling smile.
"Someone very beautiful once told me that apologies go a long way," he murmured smoothly, trying to invoke a laugh from her.
Dahlia snorted as she composed herself with a few sniffs.
"She sounds fantastic. I think you could learn a lot from her."
He pulled her back into his chest as he sat on the dewy grass. He gathered her hair and placed it over her shoulder before kissing the top of her ear.
"I think I already have," he whispered with love.
Her eyes filled with an inner glow as she clasped his hand to her heart. She kissed their interlaced grasp before resting her chin upon it.
She shook her head and replied jokingly, "Most definitely not anything related to advanced potion brewing."
His head fell with a broad smile as he chuckled. "No, most definitely not. When I am an author one day, I'll ban you from buying cauldrons."
Dahlia furrowed her brows as disbelief crept into her own smile. He read the question on her features as she silently asked if he truly believed this war would end well.
Draco's eyes moved from her own to her lips. He pressed his forehead against hers.
"We'll have all the days. I'll make sure of it. I promise."
Dahlia nodded, choosing to believe him even though she had chosen to trust in broken promises before. She rested her head against his chest and listened to the graves.
In the golden hour of morning, Dahlia finally found warmth in the wild winter.
—
Beneath the hanging wisteria, an eagle owl soared through open French windows.
Dahlia's attention was captured by the elegant owl as she quietly painted her nails on the lush, cream carpet of Draco's bedroom. It came to a seat upon the window sill after lapping the entirety of the room. It squawked for attention.
Draco sauntered in from the hall. He shot her a questionable look that neared reprimanding as he noticed the bottle of blue nail polish on the white carpet. He sighed as she blew her nails dry.
She was attempting to unwind after the long flight home.
Dahlia watched as Draco removed his shirt and lit the modern fireplace across from the bed. He had just returned from picking up their late dinner. She felt a pang of jealousy that he was free to roam the streets of London and do as he wished. She was beginning to sympathize with Rapunzel.
Dahlia directed his attention to the owl with a nod.
"What's its name?" She asked curiously.
Draco slumped into the tufted chair in front of his desk. "It doesn't have a name." He eyed the parchment upon the smooth wood of the desk with a raised brow.
Dahlia stood and padded across the room. She sat in his lap with a hand behind his neck. Draco angled his head towards her, holding the note she had written between two fingers. He read her own handwriting aloud.
"The sun is setting. Please lead me home — preferably to Hogwarts."
"Dumbledore will understand." Dahlia snatched the parchment from his fingers.
He smirked in return. She was rolling up the urgent message when she felt Draco's hands slip beneath the Slytherin quidditch tee shirt she preferred to sleep in.
She held her breath as he gently brushed against her waist. Dahlia attempted to ignore his touch as she tied the twine around the parchment in a neat bow.
"Is it selfish that I don't want you to return?" He murmured behind her.
Dahlia bit her lip as the heat of his breath caressed her neck. She sat a bit straighter upon his thigh, shoving the tempting thoughts to the side. She had a mission to complete.
"Quite," she answered tightly.
She squeezed her eyes shut as she sensed his smirk deepening. Her remark had only challenged him.
Draco leaned forward, pressing his chest against her back. He wrapped an arm around her waist while his hand drifted up her thigh.
"Will you miss me?" He whispered.
Dahlia closed her eyes for a moment too long. The delicacy of his touch and the coiling of his stiffened muscles around her middle caused warm honey to pool. She shimmied out of his hold and stood rapidly, clutching the parchment. She met his darkened gaze with disinterest.
"The bottom half of you, I suppose."
She drifted towards the window where the eagle owl embraced the moonlight.
Draco grinned devilishly.
"I like that snide mouth of yours," he snapped smoothly, watching her from behind.
"I bet you do," she teased as she tied the note to the owl.
He leaned his head back into his hands.
"I like imagining all the things it might do for me."
She lifted her eyes, a taunt playing at her lips.
"I often imagine all the ways I can get yours to shut," she replied.
He chuckled as she watched the owl plunge into the evening, carrying her request on the wind. She turned back to Draco. He motioned for her to come back to him.
His grey eyes bore into hers as she stepped across the room. She halted between his spread legs. Her bare knee brushed against the fabric of his crotch. His eyes drifted to her waist.
"You know, even when I hated you, I'd imagine worshipping you while I filled your mouth." He sunk deeper into his chair and threw his arms over the sides leisurely.
"It's all I could ever think about — having your love."
Dahlia placed her hands on the arms of the chair above his while lifting her knee and settling it in the seat by his waist. She leaned over his frame and bent down.
She sucked on his bottom lip in a teasing nature.
He groaned in response and brought a hand to her waist.
At the squeeze of her hip, she crashed her mouth against his. He sucked in sharply with desire as he parted for her. He answered the aggression of her kiss with force.
She scratched against the tense muscle of his arm as he glided his hand beneath her shorts. Draco brushed against the wet heat of her through the thin fabric. She pushed her hips against his hand and whimpered into his mouth.
He pushed the fabric aside and glided his hand down her wet center before sliding his fingers inside of her. She tightened around him as he went deeper.
She hadn't realized she was holding her breath until she exhaled, arching against him as she hovered above.
He smirked, enjoying her reaction.
"Tell me something awful I might enjoy," he murmured against her cheek as his thumb began to circle slowly.
Dahlia could hardly think. Her mind only raced with thoughts of chasing pleasure — getting him to move faster.
"It's selfish, but-" she stopped, needing to find air. "You make me disgustingly jealous."
He licked against her collarbone with a slow grin.
"I couldn't stand the thought of you with others. The thought made me fucking hate you more," she moaned.
He moved his tongue up her neck. "There are no others."
He brought his lips to hers. "No one compares."
Dahlia couldn't stand it. She reached to set him free, needing all of him inside her. He slapped her hand away and gripped her jaw with his free hand.
He stroked against the wall of her as he pushed harder, circling faster. He stared at her mouth as it parted, breathing shallowly. The delicious wave was coming. She pushed against him, matching his rhythm.
"Is that it, baby?" He taunted as her arms trembled, holding herself up above him.
He was pushing her to find the limits of how long she could hold off her pleasure while he moved mercilessly inside of her. He set his jaw as he moved his grasp from her face to her hip. He moved her against his hand, creating a sweeter friction.
She shook above him as it hit. The euphoria had her fighting to hold herself up as she tightened around his fingers.
Draco's eyes darkened as she came over him. He took her moans with a wide, satisfied smirk.
"That's a good girl." He moved slowly now, prolonging her pleasure.
Dahlia's own eyes lit aflame. She placed a hand on his chest as she slid to her knees. Draco grinned slowly, ready for her to shut him up for good.
—
The eagle owl perched itself regally on the nightstand in the light of the new day. It nudged the fellow creature awake.
Dahlia opened her eyes with a groan. She stretched, reaching for Draco across the soft bed. Her head fell to the side, missing him. They never dreamed of each other anymore.
She found Draco was sound asleep on his back.
She turned to his owl, who was eager for her to awaken.
She sighed and reached for the parchment attached to its leg. A rush of anticipation had her sitting up eagerly. She quickly unwound the note. To her confusion, she found a familiar handwriting.
Harry Potter had written back instead of Dumbledore:
Noon. Northeast corner of Grimmauld Place. Alone.
—
Theo tapped his foot impatiently as he lounged in the drawing room of the Greys, which, to no one's surprise, was adorned entirely in pale shades of their namesake.
He checked his watch. Only five minutes had passed. He shifted uncomfortably in the entirely impractical chair carved of gold.
His proper manners withered with each minute he was kept waiting.
Looking for any source of entertainment as he sat in the pits of boredom within a room meant for entertaining, he stood and strolled over to the white fireplace where an obnoxious portrait of Xavier's mother hung threateningly above the flames.
A tall glass of poison she once was with her smokey black locks and piercing glacial eyes — a dead ringer for her own sons. Theo knew she spent most of her days gossiping incessantly with Blaise's mother, which made him wonder if Xavier's father was secretly counting his days.
He picked up a silver picture frame upon the mantle and squinted to observe Xavier and his brothers smiling at a dinner next to a retired minister. He turned the frame, already able to guess which jewelry house had made the tacky homeware his mother had purchased.
Bingo, his eyebrows rose in a flash with satisfaction. The brand logo was indeed slapped across the back of his frame.
He felt Alex burning daggers into his own back. A satisfied grin found his lips. His favorite pastime was seeing how much he could annoy his brother nowadays.
Theo turned rapidly to meet Alex's eyes.
"It's all just a bit…gaudy, isn't it?" Theo mouthed, frame still in hand. He waved his arms lazily, suggesting the entire estate was beneath his taste for interior design.
"Put it down," Alex scolded him, his lips turning into a thin, white line.
His shoulders slumped. Theo set down the frame harshly and placed his hands in his pockets. "And sit once more in the chairs designed by Lucifer himself?"
"Sit," Alex demanded, patience wearing thin.
Theo paced as if he was kicking rocks.
"I shan't. I'm a Quidditch star with far too many back problems," he remarked, lips upturned in a cheeky manner.
"Don't flatter yourself," a coolness called.
Theo snapped his attention to the fireplace as Xavier's smooth voice rolled out of the hearth in a crackle. His tall, broad form barreled through a moment after — a blur of black curls.
His momentum slowed into a saunter, approaching Theo, who stood frozen in place. His mind rambled as he thought of what to say first. He was sure his face was twisted as if a particularly grisly phantom had spooked him.
A brief time apart had felt like ages, and the need to confide in someone he trusted, who wasn't his own brother, ached in his bones. It dawned — he was deeply lonely.
Xavier slapped Theo's shoulder harshly as he passed by him. He motioned for Theo to follow with a tilt of his head.
"My father should be here shortly, Alexander." Xavier smiled, condemning his brother to wait even longer in the hideous drawing room.
Theo swiftly strolled to catch up as Xavier turned the corner, exiting the room. His black shoes echoed against the diamond-patterned marble.
Xavier looked straight ahead as Theo fell into step beside him. He noted Xavier seemed more tense than usual. They walked down the towering hall and through the grand foyer, where sunlight lit the airy estate like the heavens.
"Did Eloise enjoy her stay?" Theo inquired pleasantly.
He remembered Dahlia mentioning they were spending Christmas together.
Xavier didn't spare him a glance. "I believe so."
He was unusually stiff in tone.
"Did she survive your mother?" Theo joked.
"Barely," he replied with a small smirk, still not making eye contact.
Xavier led him into a more private and much darker drawing room. The windowless room was checkered with small leather sofas and bar carts. An ornate, vintage pool table was centered below a golden chandelier that mimicked the patterns of the solar system.
"Is she staying here all break?" Theo asked, tracing his finger along the wood of the pool table. He wrapped his intentions in smooth silk. He was hoping there was a small chance to catch her. He felt an inexplicable need to explain his actions to Eloise before she heard the news from others.
For some God's awful reason, the opinion of Dahlia's closest friends mattered to him — but Xavier knew him too well and could see past the innocence of his question.
"No," he answered sharply as he inspected a cue stick.
"She's not here." His tone was edged.
Xavier strolled over to where Theo leaned against the pool table, finally looking him in the eye. Coldness gleamed.
Theo opened his mouth to come clean, but the chance was taken from him as the wind left his lungs. He recoiled as Xavier punched him in the stomach with the cue stick. He doubled over as the pain radiated.
"I deserve that," Theo coughed. "I've taken you've heard?"
Xavier leaned against the cue stick. "That was for deceiving Eloise. You deserve much worse for how you've fooled Dahlia."
"I didn't deceive her," Theo wheezed.
"Who told you about Dahlia?" He asked, steadying his voice.
"The little beast herself," Xavier answered, throwing down the cue stick upon the table. He was in no mood for games.
"You were with Dahlia?" Theo's eyes widened in disbelief. "When we met with Devereaux, he said that she was at her mother's house."
"How do you think she got smuggled there safely?" Xavier chuckled, falling into a low leather chair the color of ink.
"Gods know how many wizards are tracking her whereabouts now. Eloise and I took the trip, as well."
He snatched a marble game piece from the wizard chessboard in front of him. Theo sat on the arm of the black leather sofa across from him. His mind raced with possibilities and questions.
"When did you last see her?" Theo fought the urge to ask who she was with, knowing he would hate the answer.
"When she bounced off my jet yesterday, looking quite heartbroken."
Xavier embellished the truth, knowing it would eat away at Theo's conscience — if he had one. Dahlia had, in fact, bounced off his jet under the arm of Draco, but she had seemed quite heartbroken during their quieter moments.
"Did you tell her I was coming to meet with you today?" Theo crossed his arms defensively, wondering what notions Xavier might have put into Dahlia's mind since his friend was acting rather cold.
"She knows. We had a cute little moment, alone, as she read the message come through that you wanted to speak with me."
He twirled the chess piece between his fingers with precision.
"I practically begged her on my knees to come — to see you." He couldn't help the devilish grin that crept upon his handsome face.
Theo clenched his jaw into a sneer. Xavier was toying with him — painting a rather intimate picture of something he was sure had been innocent.
"And?" He asked with annoyance.
Xavier sighed and tossed the chess piece at the board as if he was disappointed not to get a rise out of him.
"She refused, believing it wise to return to Hogwarts instead. She was going to write to Dumbledore for permission to return early. She said he might have others who could help protect her and get her there safely."
The Order.
Theo's mind jumped to conclusions, assuming Dumbledore would rely on the Order if Dahlia needed protection from the Dark Lord. What if she was at Grimmauld Place now? Theo's hand twitched. He couldn't mention anything about the Order to Xavier. He masked his thrill.
"How is she?" Theo mumbled.
He tugged anxiously on his curls as he ran his hands through the top of his hair and sighed. He didn't miss the flash of calculation in Xavier's eyes as he chose his next words carefully.
"Confused?" Xavier shrugged. "Wrecked over your choice to leave school, grappling with her abilities, and terrified of the Dark Lord now that he hunts her."
Xavier watched as Theo spun what was surely the ring Dahlia gave him around his finger in contemplation. It was pure white with the veining of human bone. Xavier bit his cheek, wondering what atrocities Theo might do with it if pushed. He debated asking for it, lying that Dahlia wanted it back.
Theo raised his eyes, a bit broken. Xavier's stomach twisted, wishing he could expel the torment from them.
"Did she say anything else?" Theo asked.
"Nothing kind," he warned.
Theo narrowed his eyes. He was desperate for any details, even if they were ugly and might paint him the darker shades of blue.
"Tell me," he pushed.
Xavier sighed and threw his arms in exasperation.
"She's furious but seemed more disappointed. I asked if there was anything she wanted you to know. She had nothing she wished to say to you, and she doesn't want to forgive you."
"That's it?" Theo was numb, expression hopefully unreadable.
His voice softened. "She said nothing was ever enough. She thought she was not enough."
Xavier paused as he grimaced, stuck on the next words. He lowered his gaze.
"She seems to be attempting to move on."
Theo's eyes lit, urging him to elaborate.
"Malfoy seems to be supporting her — a lot."
Xavier buried the truth about ten feet underground.
Theo inhaled sharply and crunched his teeth together. He fought to keep composed. Of course, Draco was supporting her, most likely beneath bed sheets. He had stepped out of the way for destiny to run its course. It made him sick.
"Is he fucking her?" Theo blurted, stiff with nausea and fury.
Xavier perceived the slight tensing in Theo's muscles as he attempted to remain calm, so he shook his head.
"I have seen or heard nothing convincing," he muttered back.
Xavier held on to the possibility that the Aldair holiday home was haunted by rather frisky, loud ghosts for Theo's sake.
Xavier read the brimming distress on Theo's face and pinched his forehead.
"Theo, it's not too late. I think you should return to school. Dumbledore can protect you for the time being if the Dark Lord is displeased with your return."
Xavier lowered his voice and leaned closer. "Your brother can handle this shit on his own. Don't let him steal your life."
Theo shook his head, disagreeing.
Xavier continued to push. "You've been carrying on without him for how long? We're your true family now — your friends. We've always stood by you, even when you made shit decisions as you are doing now. Dahlia loves you. Come back for her. Even Draco still cares for your well-being beyond the mess between the two of you. He told me he was terrified you were going to die when the Dark Lord gave you the mark. You're a quidditch captain. You have the academics to be a damn good auror soon. Don't throw it all away. And for what?" Xavier pleaded, trying to get Theo to find some sense.
Theo stopped fidgeting and stilled.
"He's still my blood. The Dark Lord will have my head eventually for disobeying direct orders if I were to return. There will be no one to protect any of us if Malfoy is successful with the cabinet. Dumbledore's days are numbered, and I'm sure as shit not banking on Potter to defeat the Dark Lord. What will I do when Voldemort inevitably rises to total power then? Hide all my life? Because I wanted to play quidditch and follow a miserable dream to work as an auror for the ministry — for Dahlia's father."
He shot Xavier an incredulous look as if his friend was naïve.
"And what of Dahlia then? Assuming she still wants you after you've broken so many promises to her. You cannot remain loyal to the Dark Lord when he demands her to be handed over. I know you will not. You will eventually betray him, regardless."
"I am loyal to no cause but my own," Theo snapped.
"Then let Dahlia be your cause! Are you willing to let her carry on with Draco, then? While you go off and ruin your life. I wouldn't be so confident that she'll sit around and wait for you. Your betrayal deepens every breath you aren't by her side. Draco believes the Dark Lord will eventually fall. You'll be left with nothing but your own cell in Azkaban. He intends to carefully bide their time until then. Marry her, eventually. He has an idea — it's mad. I'm sure Dahlia will never agree—"
Theo lashed to raise hell, kicking off the couch.
"I do not care about Draco! I do not care about his false infatuation with Dahlia or what he has convinced her of. It's ancient, black magic — their 'feelings' aren't real. Once I cut their ties, Dahlia's thoughts will not be clouded by the curse she cast upon herself. She will be able to make decisions as her own. She will see what I have done for her once I return."
Theo took a calming breath. It had been more and more difficult to fight the urge to lash out lately. He rallied against his nature, steadying himself.
Xavier's eyes flashed as if he had caught him in a lie.
"So you know? If you believe it's simply a curse. How long have you known and not told Eloise?"
"What have I known?" Theo asked in annoyance. He knew a lot of things.
"That the Fates are gone — long dead," Xavier whispered.
Theo angled his head with narrowed eyes. That was the last thing he had expected to come blurting out of his friend's mouth. He shook his head earnestly.
"That can't be true. I only believe they have cursed Dahlia for stealing the crystal she used to strengthen her power."
Theo laughed darkly. "If they were dead, then I would surely have some decent luck."
He sighed, thinking rapidly. "Dahlia believes they are dead?"
"Yes, possibly. How could so many realities exist if they were not? She believes the Fates would never have allowed such darkness to thrive."
Xavier bit his cheek, readying to take a risk. "She wants you to stop chasing this illusion that you can beat them. She wants you to come back."
Xavier at least hoped that was what she wanted.
Theo grimaced. "No, I promised my brother. He's going to help me break their curse, and I can't do so at Hogwarts."
Xavier stood, frustrated that Theo was so adamant about making terrible decisions.
"Dahlia doesn't want you to do so. She's half-convinced it might kill her and-"
Feeling cornered, Theo quickly rose to stand a hair taller than Xavier. He snarled viciously, hitting the limits of his patience.
"I. Need. To do so. She's right — it's not enough, and I won't be painted as the villain for it. Would you settle for it? If Eloise shared an intimate connection with someone else? I have taken Dahlia's indiscretions lightly because I know she cannot help it, even if she tries. But do not tell me you wouldn't attempt to cure it. I know Draco fucking would if the roles were reversed. Hell, he would probably just kill me in cold blood and be done with it."
Alex sauntered into the tense room. He raised his brow curiously but didn't inquire.
"We should be leaving soon." He faded back into the hall, urging Theo to follow.
Theo turned back to Xavier, who reached into his pocket to retrieve a piece of parchment.
"Eloise wanted me to give you this." He handed it to Theo. "She saw the best in you, you know? And you never shared a grain of what you've been planning."
Theo sighed, reeling his anger back in.
"Send Eloise my apologies. She thinks too hard — all Ravenclaws do. The answers are often simple."
Theo opened the piece of parchment to discover a poem — a story. He remembered how thrilled Eloise had been to theorize that Dahlia's markings were a folktale. It seems she had been right.
Guilt lurched from his stomach and into his throat. He swallowed it down, but it lingered. He hated his tiny conscience. It always was urging him to do the opposite of what he pleased, what was tactical. But there was no harm in sharing the inevitable.
"Tell Eloise, shelf 612 was quite enlightening."
Xavier raised one brow inquisitively, satisfied with the knowledge he had been able to pull out like teeth.
"Anything to share with Dahlia?" He asked.
"That I love her terribly. I'll see her sooner than she realizes."
He scrunched his face as his stomach lurched in disagreement at his next thought. He averted his gaze to his bone ring. He hoped an ounce of his forgiveness would ripen her own.
"And tell her I know she cannot help it, and that is alright for now."
Xavier chuckled darkly, incredulously. "You're absolutely mad."
Theo nodded and shrugged lightly. "I've always been the worst of us."
He strolled out of the drawing room, not saying goodbye or waiting for Alex as he ripped through the folds of the world with a shrieking crack.
He had to see her — just once. He had to know that she was waiting.
He materialized with a slow grin in front of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.