It took several days for Dahlia to formulate a response to her father, but only a moment for her owl to seize it from her bitter hands and soar south, back to her estate that had once been home. In hindsight, maybe Hogwarts always had been her true home. Here, she always slept safely. Even now, with Draco's Dark Mark pressed against her skin, arm wrapped tightly around her waist while she dreamed of him.
She slowly stepped to the edge of the tower and watched Delphi soar across the skies. Her father's letter had come in the same unidentifiable cream parchment as they always had. Only his crimson ink gave him away. Three words and nothing more.
Are you well?
She had decided that she may never be sure.
Her mother had taken everything good from the world with her final inhale. That had been the true beginning of uncertainty. She had fallen in love, had her heart broken, and shaken stars all without her, yet she was still unsure if her mother would be proud or disappointed. She had been braver than she thought she could be and had touched the depths of her shimmering Sight. She was more powerful than her mother could have ever dreamed of, yet as a daughter, she had doubts. She still drank too much, let her emotions get the best of her, and gave all of herself away too quickly to the boys she loved, whether they deserved it or not. She was riddled with indecision and wrecked by never-ending anxiety.
Am I making the right choices?
"It's unkind to love them both," she knew her mother would say.
But she couldn't help it. She used to think giving her body to boys who didn't deserve it would be what disappointed her mother the most — that was before she started giving away pieces of her heart, too.
"You don't understand," she mumbled beneath her breath to the fading starlight where her mother had always promised to whisper to her. She knew in her bones by fate — by how her mother had loved Narcissa — that she would prefer Draco. She had known they were meant to be long before.
"Please understand. I chose him first," she whispered, heart holding on.
It was the only defense she had for loving another.
A more profound wind, unfamiliar from regions beyond, breathed a long, steady breath, a midnight kiss. She understood its song. The lovely message that love should be gentle. It was a pureness that did not exist in Theo, no matter how hard he strived. He was rough, always taking.
It was Draco. He was written in the stars, always patching her broken wings without hesitation or an ask. Always living for her very breath and always knowing when to lead or when to follow. Always so effortlessly perfect.
She watched her owl fade into a new day, thinking of how much she had changed since the last time she had been here this early, set on leaving Draco for good. This time, it was her father she would risk to lose. She would close his chapter, but she still couldn't bring herself to hate him. If she was honest, it was a pity that soaked her heart — that he hadn't been brave enough to save her mother from the Dark Lord sooner. That he had been a coward and sold her too.
All she had managed to answer his letter was 'yes.' Maybe one day she would be brave enough to send the crumpled letter where she had written 'I forgive you.'
She heard shuffling behind her. Dahlia turned and found Harry struggling up the uneven steps to the top of the tower. The golden-pink hues of new daylight were behind him.
"Oh, Hi, Dahlia," he breathed, clearly winded.
"Hi, Harry," she sighed, managing a small smile.
"Didn't expect to find anyone here so early. Shouldn't you be chasing after Blaise Zabini at this hour?"
"Headed to hunt him down now."
Dahlia clapped her hands and rubbed them together. Lately, they've been foregoing pleasantries, instead playing a violent game of tag. She couldn't wait to find him, slap him in the chest, and watch him boil as she out-sprinted him through the trails surrounding Hogwarts. He was probably just arriving at the Great Hall, shoveling enough breakfast to feed a horse. He would still be vulnerable if she left now.
"Right then." Harry scratched the back of his head, contemplating awkwardly.
"Er, I don't know if this is my place, but are you alright?" He asked hesitantly, waving the Daily Prophet balled tightly in a loose fist.
"Yes!" Dahlia quickly answered. "I mean, no. Obviously, with the new price on my head and Theo somewhere out there acting entirely deranged, but today, yes! I'm fine," she nodded, plastering on a smile.
"Oh, good. I was worried you might be in a tailspin," he sighed.
Dahlia narrowed her eyes at the moving image beneath his bony fingers.
"...and worried you may do something brash. You and Theo are so alike..."
Dahlia's gut knotted tightly, still staring at the paper in his hand as he laughed.
"I swear when I first brought you to Grimmauld Place, the mannerisms in one moment were-"
"I'm sorry, Harry. I think I'm hallucinating," she chuckled politely. "Can I see that?"
Harry froze, still as the ice-sheeted Black Lake behind him. His grip tightened around the Daily Prophet.
"No," he mumbled, his demeanor quickly becoming nervous. "I don't think that would be wise..."
His words died slowly as she tilted her head. Dahlia straightened and took a step forward him, deadpan and menacing. Harry stepped back slowly.
"I think that might actually be dangerous to my heal-"
Dahlia pounced, snatching the paper from his hand in a quick motion, yet he held firm. Her momentum had her shoving him back against the uneven stone of the Owlery.
"Give it to me!"
"No!" He tried to slap her away with the rolled-up Daily Prophet.
"You beast!" He yelled, grappling with her until she finally caught his wrist.
He jerked away, screaming as she unfurled his fingers.
"I thought you had already seen it!" He squealed.
Dahlia stretched the newspaper wide, horrified in an instant, confirming her worst fear and that she had not hallucinated at all.
"What the fuck is this!" She screeched in disbelief.
'A Love in Slow Bloom' was printed above an old moving image of Draco and Pansy, scrounged up from when Rita Skeeter had been scurrying around the castle in their fourth year for the Triwizard Tournament. It was used for disgusting nostalgia, she was sure, to really hit it home.
"A story of flowering love as told through letters — letters!" Dahlia squawked in horror. "...as the surprising couple prepares for a Spring wedding next year, allegedly."
Dahlia's head spun.
"A FUCKING WEDDING?" Dahlia snorted, delusional from her anger, as she laughed.
"Why do you think I asked!" Harry spat, inspecting his invisible wounds. "Wait, did you bite me..."
His voice trailed off as he furrowed his brow. Dahlia pushed past him, barrelling down the winding stairs of the Owlery and storming towards the castle.
"Dahlia! No, no, no!" He panicked, chasing after her. "You're going to get yourself expelled!"
"Who all has seen this!" She yelled back, cutting through the grounds as they approached the entrance.
Harry didn't answer the question, which meant everyone.
She was burning. Her veins were catching fire. She followed their bonded thread. Draco was in the Great Hall, probably assuming he was safer within a crowd. Now that she was focused, she could sense he was on edge, nearly terrified to find her or be found.
"You should stick around, Harry. I know you've always wished to see Draco Malfoy be completely gutted like a pig."
"No, no, no! Dahlia!" He reached for her arm.
It was too late. Dahlia turned the corner of the Great Hall with a smile that promised to rain hellfire, her polished loafers clashing against the floor as she moved gracefully. Mindlessly furious.
Draco sensed her immediately and stood quickly from the Slytherin stable, where he was thoughtfully seated on the end of the bench closest to the wall and exit. Blaise, who sat opposite him, stood and turned to face her. His eyes pleaded with her to maintain her cool, but Dahlia didn't care. She was beyond caring what anyone made of her affairs anymore. There was no pristine reputation to uphold within these castle walls at this point.
Dahlia wasn't sure if the crowd hushed. She could only hear the ringing in her ears, blood pumping fiercely into her heart and igniting her rage.
"Dahlia..." Draco held up his hands as if that might calm her fury.
She shut him out from her end of the bond as he tried to soothe her. He stepped to his left as she stepped forward, hiding behind the table.
She smirked, wanting to have this dance. She sauntered along to her right, moving down the row of Slytherins.
"Draco..." She sang his name. A mockery of how much he loved it within her mouth.
Blaise followed her, nestled between her and the table in case things got too ugly. They passed Xavier, who was getting a real kick out of this, chuckling as he ate a turkey leg for breakfast. He was always thrilled when her violent side reared.
"It's not true," Blaise whispered, attempting to calm her down and reason with her.
"That's not the point," she hissed, continuing to prowl down the aisle. She kept her eyes locked on Draco as she spun her wand. They passed Pansy, who had the better sense to keep her mouth shut for once.
"Dahlia, please," Draco pleaded. His eyes were alight with silver fire, determined not to fight with her.
She faltered for only a moment, letting her iron walls down. He struck in an instant, reaching for her end of the bond. Her fiery expression finally broke into something far more desperate as he made sense of her anger.
It was unfair. This was unfair to her. Everyone knew they were together, yet he still denied it. Theo had practically screamed it through the halls, made a spectacle of kissing her while everyone looked on while Dahlia had to settle for holding Draco's hand under tables. She wouldn't tolerate this article, though. It was far too embarrassing, even if it was far from the truth. It wasn't about her reputation; it was about proving her worth to him.
His shoulders fell, sensing it in a moment. The hurt beneath the fury that radiated from her heart slammed into his chest. He gave in to her without a fight, no matter what it might cost them eventually.
"Darling," he called across the table as he halted near the end, letting his hands fall.
"It's not true," he whispered, ignoring everyone in the room. His eyes were on her and no one else. Only for her did he fold. Yield entirely.
Dahlia said nothing but knew he didn't need to say more to prove what she meant to him. It was obvious in context. It was written in his face. He loved her. She suddenly felt foolish. It always had been scribbled across his eyes. She came to the end of the table, where he waited for her patiently.
"I love you," he admitted anyway, quietly as he reached for her hand.
She stepped up to his chest, spinning her wand. He lifted his chin as she pressed the tip against his jaw, allowing her to do whatever she wished.
"It's only ever been you," he confessed, his eyes glancing down upon her.
"And me," he whispered for only her to hear.
He brushed his fingers down her wand, then rested his hand over hers. The wand buzzed within her palm, calling to him as his own wand was also made with the hair of a unicorn. It sensed her soul in him.
"Do you love me?" He questioned softly, new constellations waiting to be charted in his eyes.
Dahlia nodded once, wand still firmly pressed into his chin, but this had always been their love language.
He grinned. "You want to take a shot at me?"
She nodded again, welcoming an opportunity for violence.
"Good. Come on. Let's have it," he sighed, stepping back.
Before he could even brace himself, she fired. "Everte statum!"
Draco was thrown back, colliding hard with the stone wall behind him in a thick thud in an instant. The hall burst into laughter and cheers. Dahlia stood proud, not lowering her wand just yet.
"Do it again!" Xavier called loudly, waving his turkey leg.
"Fucking hell," Draco groaned, coughing as he struggled to find air. "Alright, you're done. Definitely done," he rasped as he stood on loose legs.
Dahlia flounced down the hall, exiting with Draco storming behind her. She turned sharply, racing down the stairs and finding a new corridor.
"Dahlia," he called after her.
She knew he could easily catch up, and he hung back for her sake. The castle darkened, candlelight illuminating as she went deeper into the maze of corridors. He trailed her quietly.
Dahlia finally shook a door knob loose with her magic and entered a small room in the heart of the castle. It was filled to the brim with abandoned seasonal decorations. She had spent many skipped lunches in here during her fifth year with a quidditch chaser from Hufflepuff, but he didn't need to know that.
He hovered before the threshold, throwing his hands in his pockets to casually take hold of his wand. Dahlia stepped back as she faced him. He followed her into the closet, expressionless, eyes masked and unreadable, as he wasn't sure what trap she had set for him.
Dahlia slammed the door behind him with a wave.
Draco didn't flinch as he continued to stroll towards her slowly. He finally halted, chest to chest, staring down at her without a word. She was reminded of how much taller he was than her. How cold and intimidating he could be when he wore a blank expression. She felt him breathe in. He reached for her cheek. It was gentle — he belonged to her. This monster, made and marked, belonged to her. What little of his heart would always be given entirely to her. His eyes promised it, yet she was still furious and desolate.
She clenched her jaw tightly, eyes burning with frustrated tears. They would never have peace. There would always be the next hurdle. She reached up and wrapped her hand around the base of his neck, wondering if he still dreamed that she killed him like this from time to time. He pushed into her grasp, and she nearly sobbed. He pushed his neck into her hand with enough force to have her stumbling back into the shelves upon the wall.
"You want to kill me?" He whispered. He brought his hand up to her reddened cheek and wiped away a tear that had escaped her brimming eyes against her will. "I'll let you, baby," he murmured.
Dahlia couldn't force words through her clenching throat as she held back more sobs. She let her nails sink into the skin of his neck as his eyes pierced right through her.
Is this what little time they had left would always be like? Outrunning the noise?
"Let me in," he whispered, promising silence.
Dahlia caught on a breath. She couldn't. She couldn't even think clearly. She brought her other hand to his chest and traced down the buttons of his shirt. She couldn't stand the thought of him loving someone else, being with someone else. The jealousy was a ripping rage to lose herself in.
She finally released his neck. She pulled harshly on his tie, pulling it off and dropping it to the ground. He watched her unbutton his shirt, one by one.
"Is this what you want?" He asked, ripping it off and tossing it to the ground, seething that she wouldn't talk about much of anything — that she couldn't find words, just tears, and she would bottle everything in again, time after time, seething that he would have to chase her down again.
She shoved his shoulders back.
"Fuck me," she yelled, tone as entitled as the world had deemed her.
This was madness. She was envy, anxiety, rage, exhaustion, and everything in between.
He pushed his tongue against the inside of his cheek, at a loss and on the brink of fury.
Dahlia welcomed it, wanted it. It was about time he was furious. She just ruined his attempt to keep her safe. He always had to fix her. Chase her. Protect her. Be her whole fucking world, and she still missed Theo spite it all. She couldn't help herself, yet she had the nerve to be fucking jealous of a girl he had never even loved. He should be fucking furious with her.
"Fuck...me," she repeated slowly as if he were dense. Demanding it.
His eyes finally lit with the coldness she craved as he struggled to maintain that effortless perfection. She had missed hating him and him hating her. It was raw — the look in his eye. It was every nasty thought of jealousy and hate for the world that pushed them both together and beat against them.
He shoved her back. She cowered against the wall as he quickly pinned her against it, ripping off her sweater as if she were nothing more than a doll for him.
"You're a fucking brat, Aldair," he whispered through clenched teeth.
She missed hearing her last name from him.
"You're all I ever fucking think about," he growled, coming to a knee and pulling off her tights roughly.
"Say my name," she breathed, wanting nothing more than for him to slide his hands up between her legs.
"Dahlia," he murmured like it was forgiveness, licking from her thigh to her hip.
She almost fell to the floor as if she were his penance. He stood up and brought her with him, slapping her knee to make her wrap her legs around his waist.
He gripped her like he hated everything in this whole fucking world — the rotten and unfair lifetime they had been given. Destined to love and die in an endless cycle by his own hand hot against her skin.
"No, no, no," she breathed, wanting him to stay beneath her skirt for a while.
He withheld a smirk.
"You ordered me to fuck, Dahlia," he whispered, shoving his cheek against hers.
She wrapped her hand around his neck again, pulling him closer this time.
"So that's it. I'm going to fuck you — and nothing more," he sneered, punishing her for ordering him but obeying regardless.
Dahlia's mouth fell open as he plunged his fingers inside her, needing to know if she was ready for him, wanting to know how much she liked this, too. She gasped as he curled his fingers inside of her and he covered her mouth. He groaned as she reached down to find his cock.
"I'm going to fuck you until you forget his fucking name, Dahlia," he spat hatefully. It was a vow made while looking dead into her eyes. She nodded, wishing he could take Theo's poison from her veins.
"Were you jealous, Dahlia?" He pulled her bottom lip with his thumb, claiming her like a sick obsession. He smiled, cunning and mean, as she refused to answer the truth of it.
"You have such a pretty fucking mouth. I used to imagine it on me and around my cock when I would watch him kiss you. All the fucking time. I used to imagine you hated it. Wished it was me instead."
He ran his fingers down the center column of her neck.
"You will never be more fucking jealous than me," he whispered into her mouth before sliding his tongue inside.
It set them free to acknowledge Him like this. She was sick, fucked in the head for liking this, wanting all of Draco, even his jealousy. He had been too gentle and too kind for too long, thinking she had been far too broken to want him like this anymore, but he was wrong. She liked him cruel, only because she knew the gentle nature of their love beneath it all.
She stroked his cock and he groaned while pushing his fingers deeper inside her. She shook within his arms. She wanted to say his name. It was the most lovely thing that could ever fall from her mouth, crafted just for her to whisper across the universe.
"Draco," she whimpered. "Draco..."
"Fuck," he cried, loving it too much — how she said his name and how she tightened around his fingers. He pulled out, needing all of her now.
"Draco, please," she begged him, unable to voice anything else.
He pressed his forehead against hers, locking eyes as he raised her higher, pushing himself against her entrance.
"What's your name, baby?" He taunted, slowly sliding all of him inside of her.
Her mouth fell open again, and his gaze fell to her lips. She sunk her nails into his shoulder as she gasped.
He smirked, knowing how much she liked the way he curved inside her like this.
Dahlia watched how his muscles coiled around her, lifting and breaking her entirely. She wanted him to suffocate her in his arms.
"Tell me," he ordered, pushing her hair out of her face and sliding two fingers between her lips and into her mouth. "Now," he whispered horribly.
She caught his wrist and twisted his arm. She kissed the marking, the small constellation, that labeled him hers, whether he liked it or not.
"Dahlia," She answered.
"Dahlia, what?" He smirked, slamming into her as he broke her against the wall. He kissed the pumping veins in her neck. He could whisper a charm and slow her heart now if he wished, yet she let her head fall back for him.
"What's your name? I bought you, did I not?" He mocked.
She slapped him and then answered, "Dahlia Malfoy." She pulled back on his silver-flamed hair and licked his jaw as his lip bled. "It'll be Dahlia fucking Malfoy you get on your knees for every night."
He didn't stop fucking her as he spit blood out of his mouth and onto the floor. Dahlia gripped his face and brought his eyes to her. There was warmth for only her in their coldness. It broke her too much. How could this sour? How could he kill her?
"I love you. I've always fucking loved you. I'll love you at your worst," she whispered shakily, knowing this was just the beginning. He was only the origin of what he would become.
Her emotions were at an all-time high, and he saw the storm in her terrified eyes. He squeezed her tightly within his arms. He slowed, heart still racing.
"Hey, darling, we're going to get through this," he promised.
Dahlia nodded frantically, needing something, anyone to believe in. Even gods needed faith, something to guide them to a home.
His grip turned harsh and desperate, revealing his worst fears — that this could all be lost. They were exposed, letting the ugliness of themselves be accepted. They were both jealous, violent, and flawed, yet unbreaking and patient. Dahlia wasn't sure if she was crying as she lost herself completely in him, but he took it away, reprieving her for everything that was wrong.
She knew nothing anymore except his grace.
—
Around midnight, Dahlia finally found the courage to have a real conversation.
She placed her empty wine glass on the delightfully warm stone of the ever-accommodating Room of Requirement, where she sat leaning against a plum chaise that reminded her of her father's office — surely the room's doing since he had been on her mind ever since this morning.
She filled her glass once more with a vintage merlot. She played with a small flame on one of several candelabras that filled the room with a sumptuous glow, reminded of the single ignite from Theo's fingertips as he would light another cigarette. He had never been able to quit the habit despite his word. She wondered if he might be doing so now, thinking of her and their broken promises.
She sighed, taking another sip.
The wine bottle had been waiting for her, readied by Draco, who had been reduced from a murderous Death Eater to nothing more than an anxious, lovesick boyfriend. He had only been able to nervously and quietly voice his love as she entered the hidden room encased in fantastical candlelight over an hour ago. They had fallen into a thick silence, and Dahlia had fallen into half the bottle.
She stared at Draco's tensing back through his rumpled school shirt as he bent over the vanishing cabinet. She had watched and admired the beauty of his elegant hands working upon the glossy wood, crafting, casting spells, and fixing fine, magic-leaking cracks that were nearly invisible to the naked eye. She studied the thin crease between his brows as he focused. A subtle cleverness, a need for precise calculation that left nothing to chance, unfolded like a secret map in his eyes while he worked. It was her favorite of his expressions, delicate and determined. His posture was effortless, too. Strong-willed, as usual — his shoulders back, spine perfectly elongated like a leopard, and his chin always a hair higher than everyone else.
Sometimes, in the fleeting night when he dreamed without her, she stared at him and wondered what it might have been like to grow up so magnificently poised, traditionally beautiful. Even his striking hair that marked him a Malfoy, someone to be cautioned by birth alone, fell so effortlessly upon her pillow.
Dahlia had grown into something close to beautiful with painful efforts. She recalled the first time a boy had ever even noticed her. She was thirteen when she had seen her father's assistant in her foyer, freshly graduated from Durmstrang. He had quickly eyed her, drinking her in from the top of her sun-blonded hair to her bare feet as she hung over the railing of the stairs above. She knew now it had been wildly inappropriate when he had called her troublingly gorgeous, drunk in the night as he whispered his goodbyes after a dinner party. It hadn't stopped her then from stalking him, memorizing her father's meeting schedule so she might meet him again. She would bet Draco couldn't recall the first time someone had called him handsome as he had always been so. It was insignificant and so entirely ordinary to him. He was a starry night, dimensionally beautiful as promised by the dawnless folklore.
Dahlia sighed.
The Room of Requirement dimmed its flickering candlelight, sensing her need for a more gentle atmosphere that made heavier words more easily spoken. Draco's eyes remained focused on the mending of a hairline crack as he sensed the change. He stiffened, his hands still dancing over the flaw with steady magic.
"Yes, my love?" His tone was quiet, any frustration from the cabinet held in the tensing of his jaw, separated entirely from her.
"Do you need help?" She asked meekly.
Draco finally peered up from the cabinet, his grey eyes that held the promise of sleeping blue beneath their storm finally landing on her, tired yet warm. The proof of exhaustion pooled beneath his eyes like thumb-printed bruises. He shook his head, still stubborn and determined to do this on his own. She was a last resort.
"Do you finally want to talk?" He sighed.
Dahlia crossed her arms and then reluctantly nodded. He grinned as if his sweetened silence had been a successful strategy to get her to surrender. He leaned his shoulder against the cabinet and crossed his arms, too.
"I sent an owl to my mother," he sighed, "to see if she knew anything about the article. I'm sure Rita Skeeter has reached out in some capacity. As for the forged letters, I'm inclined to believe it was our darling Theodore," he finished with a bite in his tone.
"Fucking bitch," he kept beneath his breath.
"Not everything is Theo's doing," she fired.
"Is it not?" Draco retorted too quickly, painted in sarcasm.
Dahlia held her response. The silence tightened in the wavering light.
Where was the line of betrayal between them? Was it too much for Draco to stand if she even occasionally came to his defense? Dahlia looked anywhere but his eyes, knowing at least about this that he was right. He was rarely wrong. Everything lately seemed to be Theo's doing.
Draco leveraged her silence in the worst of ways as he turned his attention back to the cabinet, entirely too afraid of her answer to be still.
"And what will happen when he returns?" He finally questioned, his voice all too sharp. Crisp, as if he had asked her a million times in his stream of thoughts.
"He's not coming back," she quipped, keeping her eyes on the empty wine glass, circling the rim with her fingertips.
"You don't know him, Dahlia. He's coming back for you, hell or high water."
Dahlia closed her eyes for a brief moment, stung and whipped by his words, mainly because they were true. She knew Theo entirely, but only the pieces he was willing to share. She knew the rough paths in his palms, memorized by the harsh grip upon her naked skin when he worshipped her. She knew the pattern in his curls and imagined charting them like the ocean tides. She knew what shortcomings kept him up at night and the way he fidgeted when he was nervous, intrigued, irritated, or fucking furious.
"I told him I love you..."
She tried to make her words big, but the statement fell small and weak from her lips.
"In your journals?" He derided, unable to help the distaste seeping through his scoff.
Dahlia stilled, uncertain if she should answer at all.
He stood tall and quickly turned from the cabinet, pushing his hair back and finally resting his hands on his hips as if he were truly and utterly exhausted. As if the weight of the stars nearly outshined them. An abated pause filled the space between as he stared into her, exasperated, wishing he could fix her heart, worried he was just a replacement.
"I don't want you to miss him," he admitted in a lost whisper, like he had hit a dead end in the night.
"I don't want to miss him," she murmured, shaking her head.
He wasn't quick enough to hide his grimace. Dahlia's stomach turned. She couldn't stand to disappoint him, so she offered a private truth to soothe his anxieties.
"I can't forgive him, Draco." It pained her to reveal, to weave her feelings for both of them together.
He smiled like a forlorn fool. It was an expression that hadn't tormented his features in weeks. She couldn't bear it, so she averted her gaze and found the soft flame of a candle.
"Would you choose me if you had a choice? Let's say he's successful and breaks this bond we share, and assume the worst doesn't happen...would you still love me, Dahlia?"
The question entered the air as if it was uninvited. Was this what he asked himself when he crawled into her bed nearly every night? Watched her fall asleep, brushed his fingers through her hair, and whispered all the things he wanted to give her someday? Is this why he held her tight in the mornings like he might lose her?
Dahlia shook her head. "He's getting to you, Draco. You know there is a part of me that will always love you, soul bound or not, and you also know he could never live with that even if I could find forgiveness for him."
She drew in a breath, knowing her answer alone wouldn't be enough. She stood and took his hand, brushing the sculpted hollow of his cheek.
"I don't regret being with him. He made us. Being with him allowed me to see the pieces of your heart that made me inevitably fall for you. He always made me feel as if the world was too dangerous, like I was a liability, but-"
"Dahlia, we don't have to talk about him."
"No, it's important to me that you know," Dahlia whispered. She dropped her gaze and fiddled with her nails. Even now, after how far she'd come, her insecurities were challenging to voice.
"You make me want to be brave. I'm terrified all the time. I used to even fear saying the wrong things, worried someone might dislike me. It means the world to me that you believe in me," she admitted quietly.
His elegant fingers brushed her chin, bringing her eyes to his. He was furious beneath his loving gaze that she didn't believe in herself.
"You don't need me to instill your bravery, Dahlia. You have nothing to fear. You're my little monster. I feel it bound next to my heart, ancient and inhuman."
He paused, seeing the weight of it, the responsibility, crush her in the soft lines of her brow. "You are the nightmare of every beast, every king and lord," he whispered, "but you are my nightmare, and you should know that I will protect you when it feels too hard to be brave."
Dahlia smiled for herself. He was the best risk she had ever taken. The best chance she had ever risked. He was the cold plunge of a lake finally warming, making the rest of the world frigid and uninviting instead. She imagined herself on Amelia's dock as a child all those years ago, wishing she was brave enough to jump in. She wished she could tell herself then that it would come in time and to have a grace. True bravery was earned, not naturally given. She spent so long hating herself, wishing to make anyone else but herself proud.
Dahlia continued, wanting him to know one more piece of her heart.
"I was the center of his world, but I was never enough. Theo and I, we would fight so often, living for the notion that tomorrows were a new page to begin again. I don't want to do that anymore," she sighed, exhausted at even the thought of her ongoing battles with a journal.
"I don't want new pages. I want to write stories — with you. You simply love me, and I just love you, and that is freeing."
Theo hoped to have it all, burning their books to write something grander. Draco loved her with the simple hope that they might grow old together like a million other lovers despite the weight of what they shared, the fantastical nature of their heart-sewn bond.
"Baby..."
Dahlia draped her arms around his neck as he bent down to pick her up. She wrapped her legs around his waist. He looked at her as if things might be okay like they weren't barrelling towards a grim conclusion — the one where he might be forced to bury her himself in an unmarked grave in the midst of a costly war.
He brushed his mouth against hers, breath warm and cutting. "Don't think my love is so simple. I'll burn it all, Dahlia, to give us a happy ending. To give you what you deserve."
Dahlia flashed an easy grin as she smoothed her hands through his silver hair. "Everything will be as it should be. The Mother herself promised that to you."
"Dahlia..." He shifted her weight as if pained by a realization. "We should talk about a more present threat," he suggested with hesitation, placing her down on the couch.
Dahlia waited for him to continue, hating the topic at hand before it even left his lips. The Dark Lord's beacon upon Draco's arm, writhing with the vow of her end.
Draco came to a knee in front of her and took her hands, as he had that night in his cabin when he had healed her gashes.
"I've been thinking about your safety once classes end..."
He squeezed her hands a little tighter, nervous, which made Dahlia's own anxiety rise.
"I've been thinking. I have an idea, and it's nothing more. You can tell me to fuck off, and I'll never mention anything of the like ever again."
"What is it? Just tell me..."
"Snape told me that Theo is only returning as an order from the Dark Lord. He's been asked to return with you once the cabinet is mended. I'm not sure what they're planning — Snape, and possibly my mother, and your father. I don't even wish to risk it...Dahlia," he paused.
"We can run, and we will fucking run, across time and to the end of the world if that's what you want, but if he gets his hands on you, we will need to plan for that too."
Dahlia sat still and reeling. He brushed his thumb over her knuckles, eyes pleading.
"You are so extraordinary. He could already sense it that night that you are much stronger than your mother."
Dahlia nodded, urging him to continue.
"I want to propose to the Dark Lord that he put you under the care — of my family. My name. I want him to want to keep you more than just barely alive. I want you to lie to him and to make him think that we will eventually continue your line..."
A shiver crept up her back, sinking its teeth and poisoning her with horror. She was struck violently with reality. He would marry her. Hell, he already bought her hand. It had seemed so far detached, something that wasn't entirely real, but hearing him now plan how he might package and sell an image for the Dark Lord in the near future was deafening. The idea of them even considering a promise of children was far too much.
Was everyone playing politics for her life like chess without her? Theo was on the board, shaking hands with his brother and the Order. The Malfoys intended to undermine from within, wait patiently, and get their hands minimally dirty so they might rise from ashes in the fallout. Her father thought he could deal himself out, and Dahlia wanted nothing more than to flip the board, take the game pieces, and run like hell.
"Draco. No," She breathed, speechless.
He cupped her face with his palms. "Darling, it's buying time. It's all borrowing time until the Dark Lord falls."
"And what if he does not?" She hissed, lowering his hands from her cheek.
He moved his hand over hers, an iron grip. "He will. The cost of power is too high. Loyalty breaks by the finest cracks."
There was a long silence as the fierceness in their gazes crushed and challenged each other.
"And how does this make you any different than my own father? You would sell me too?"
Draco fought the betrayal in his eyes — that she would suggest they were alike.
"No, I will give the Dark Lord nothing. I am asking you, begging you to agree to a better plan than running to survive. He will find us. You've seen it yourself. That is what keeps me up at night, Dahlia. Your vision. Not if he gets his hands on you, but when. I will not be the one to kill you. It will not come to that ending. I'm asking you to offer an alliance. Get close enough to even kill him."
"He will break me," she whispered as if he lingered now.
He shook his head. "You are not weak, and he will want to keep you in health with the right influences in his ear."
"I cannot kill the Dark Lord. That is ridiculous," she scoffed, returning to the thought.
He squeezed her hands tighter, hell in his eyes. "I believe you can. I've seen you make the stars shake. Weaken him enough, and I'll kill him myself for you."
"Draco-"
"Just consider it. Consider something other than running, at least. I will follow whatever you choose, as always," he murmured.
Dahlia broke their gaze, swimming in uncertainty. She had forced his hand this morning and made him choose her in a crowd. Their love had a price. Her love, in particular, was costly. Theo wouldn't be willing to pay it at all. He would rather snap necks than strike deals, but Draco would. He would pay until he had nothing left to give and then some.
"I love you, always," he whispered as the silence stretched.
Dahlia nodded. She knew this. It was the only thing she did know.
He kissed the soft skin of her wrist, where the veins from her heart were most prominent. "Forever and a day," he breathed against her skin, branding her as his no matter the worst.
Stuck between the will of gods and the impositions of men who strived to be so, they had little to no choices, and time was running out. He had nothing but his purpose and tenacity. He would give everything to build her a home among monsters, and so would she.
Because he was right, she was his nightmare, the worst of all beasts. She would carve him a path where he might be most wicked, relentless so they could take it all.
"I love you too," she promised. "Always."
— — — — — — — — — —
The tables within the Divinations classroom were small enough, meant for intimate readings between two wizards or witches at most. Dahlia usually appreciated this, being able to crisscross her legs upon the floor cushions and gossip quietly with Eloise in the back of the classroom, but today was an unwelcome exception. It was Xavier's smug face she found hovering entirely too close to her own as he struggled to contort himself, attempting to cross his long legs as she did.
"Get back! Personal space, Xavier!" She hissed, shoving him back with an open hand against his cheek.
"You fucking smell up close!" She gagged.
It was true. He wore entirely too much cologne, as did Draco, Blaise, and Theo. The difference was the sheer amount of acrid musk.
"I'm trying to get comfortable!" He grumbled painfully.
"This table is far...too low!" He groaned as he bumped his knee. "Fucking..."
He mumbled a quick heightening spell, and Dahlia held onto the full teapot upon the table as it shook, rising a few inches to her chest.
"Much better," he sighed, successfully resting a knee beneath the round table. He brought the other to his chest and rested his arm lazily across it. "Now, shall we chat?"
"I hate you."
She eyed Eloise, who was sitting with Blaise instead, as Xavier was set on being her partner in Divination today. Xavier snapped his fingers in front of her face, garnering her attention back to him.
Dahlia crushed his fingers in her hand. "What do you want?"
"Punchy today," he crooned, shaking his hand out. "I saw the Daily Prophet yesterday. Horrendous journalism, if you ask me."
Dahlia said nothing, just flipped to the correct page in his textbook that he had refused to open since class had begun. Xavier withheld any thanks, just held out his teacup for her to fill. The cup was entirely too small in his bony hands, decorated simply in silver and black diamond bands.
He narrowed his eyes. "Does it bother you at all that Narcissa Malfoy didn't comment? I surely thought I would see an apology from Skeeter this morning."
Dahlia looked up beneath her lashes in a subtle warning. He was treading through uncertain waters. She poured the mystic tea into his cup aggressively, letting the boiling water splash his knuckles. He grinned as if he liked it before dusting his tea with enchanted pearl grinds.
"The Malfoys don't comment on anything written about them. You should know better, Mr. Grey," she answered, insinuating that his own family wasn't stranger to handling the bad press.
Dahlia studied the black steam rising from his tea. The tendrils morphed into a vibrant cerulean as a last thought before dissipating out of existence. Xavier furrowed his brows. Dahlia read from her textbook as she moved her hands through the heart of the rising black.
"Mystery, elegance, power with a touch of stability, wisdom, and authority."
"Sounds most accurate to me," he answered silkily with a smirk.
Dahlia continued. "Coldness, sadness, fear, and loneliness."
She lifted her eyes from the page to find his smirk falling away. In its place was nearly a snarl. His eyes, the lightest of cold blues, only a hint of what burrowed below his heart. Dahlia didn't smirk or smile as they held gaze. He shifted like he thought himself a trapped animal, then quickly refocused the conversation.
"You know she had the power to kill the article entirely. You don't think Skeeter reached out for comment beforehand?" He whispered, like it was treason, and it was. Draco would be hellish to hear the words leaving his mouth. "The Parkinsons and the Malfoys are quite close. They've been gunning for a match since we were all only children."
"I'm not talking about this with you," she hissed.
She didn't want to think about it at all. Dahlia knew there was always a kernel of truth in her articles. Rita Skeeter had delicately reported about her and Theo trysting at the holiday party on Christmas Eve. Others had thought that was a stretch, thinking it far too outlandish to be true, but Dahlia hated how often she thought of him in the Malfoy's library, pushing between her legs and whispering against her skin that he loved her between the moons, in any lifetime.
"So I take it you and Draco are still steady as ever?" Xavier asked.
Dahlia shoved her cursed thoughts down and nodded while pouring her own tea. "I almost can't wait to be a Malfoy myself, then maybe I can finally pay you to piss off."
"I like you when you're mean," Xavier hummed, leaning closer.
Dahlia kicked him beneath the table, landing a blow to his shin as he grimaced. "Stop it. We are fighting. I've hated you since the bridge the other night."
He raised his hands and shook his head in surrender. He then chuckled as if finding something ironic.
"What, Grey?" She slammed her cup against the table, displaying her worst manners.
He raised a brow, smirking. "If you gave Theo half the passes you gave Draco..."
Dahlia was sure her eyes had flashed with violence, but she remained composed. "And here I thought you were neutral. Do you owe Theodore a favor? Strike a bargain with him, too?" She sneered, an unfitting expression on her gentle features.
"Careful, doll, you still owe me on your bargain," he snickered.
Xavier leaned over the table and poured her more tea. "Let me ask you something, Dahlia. Honestly, as friends."
Dahlia's features remained tightly pressed, but he continued anyway. "What exactly are you planning to do on the thirteenth of February when Theo returns?"
Dahlia sprinkled the pearl dust over her tea as she exhaled a heavy sigh. "You have false hope, Xavier. He's not returning," she replied quietly, absolutely sure. She couldn't allow herself even to hope, to wish it.
Xavier eyed her curiously. His gaze dropped to the steam sweetly rising above her cup. It was a misty cream, entirely ordinary. Xavier pulled her textbook to him and read from the description.
"Light, hope, holiness...isolation, and emptiness."
Dahlia pressed her lips together. This exercise was entirely too exposing. She quickly waved the steam away from her cup, and as she did so, the steam was choked by a bright crimson.
"Love and luck. Illusion. Rage and aggression," Xavier quickly recited with a knowing grin.
Dahlia snapped her textbook closed, his fingers trapped within its pages. He didn't flinch as his grin pulled into a smirk.
"You're in denial, aren't you?" He whispered, seeing her now fully.
Dahlia shook her head, fumbling with her teacup. "No...I don't know."
Xavier grinned like a cat who had successfully trapped its mouse. Dahlia pushed her elbows onto the table, rubbing her eyes as she finally broke.
"I'm worried about him. He didn't look well. I told him I was sorry for dragging out our fight, and I just wanted him to return," she whispered.
"And?"
Dahlia shook her head, out of cards to play. "He still refuses. I've been so angry about it that I haven't opened my journal to see what he has written since after the Clock Tower."
"You wrote to him that night? But Draco returned with you after we left the Clock Tower..."
His eyes lighted with mischief as he placed the pieces together. It was this gossip he enjoyed most. "Dahlia, you devil," he exclaimed quietly, eying her like he didn't think she had it in her to love them both so brazenly.
"Shut up," she lashed.
"You're still madly in love with him, aren't you?" He coaxed her gently, wanting nothing more for her to admit that Theo still had a fighting chance.
"No! I'm most definitely not, and shut up."
Xavier leaned back, angling his chin as if he had a proposition for her. "Say when he returns, if he were to cut this nonsense about a curse between you and Draco-"
"He won't, and it's too late. He left me with Draco. I've chosen Draco, and I will always choose Draco. He should have to live with his consequences," Dahlia snapped. She was tired enough of her own heart pushing and pulling itself.
Xavier refused to give up. He breathed in, exasperated, as if this was far more than he bargained for. "You will look Theo in the eye and tell him that it wasn't enough for you? He might walk worlds and free you from fate entirely. He's already slaughtered a few stars. Is that not good enough for you?"
He rolled his eyes as Dahlia scoffed, so deeply offended. "You both are so terribly alike and can't even see it," he finished with a verbal whip.
Dahlia shoved her face closer to his this time. "He's not doing it for me. Don't you see that? He's doing it for himself because he can't stand me like this." She pointed to her heart, beating in sync with Draco's across the castle as he sat in History of Magic.
Xavier had nothing to answer. He was out of counterarguments. "Dahlia," he sighed in defeat. "Come on. I'm just trying to put in a good word here for my mate."
"Well, save it. Theo can come to grovel on his own behalf if and when he actually returns," she answered, finishing the last of her tea.
"He's going to ask if I spoke to you, and I don't want to have to tell him that this went horribly."
"That's not my problem," she laughed cruelly.
"Is there at least anything he can do for you? Anything you might want for your upcoming birthday?" He sang with a fresh smile.
"I want him to stop forging love letters and get some fucking therapy," she snapped. Dahlia snatched a biscuit off the table. He had driven her to eat her feelings.
He barked a laugh. "I'll tell him a proposal then."
"You're just as psychotic." She shook her head, violently chewing a second biscuit.
"I prefer to be seen as an advocate of the underdog, but let's not tell Draco about this conversation," he whispered. "I would like to wake up tomorrow."
"Fine," Dahlia sighed. "I'm feeling merciful."
She had intended to keep this conversation a secret regardless. Draco's fury was on a short fuse lately. He wouldn't take kindly to Xavier whispering in her ear on Theo's behalf.
He smirked like they had secrets of their own. "Merciful enough to do me that favor I'm owed?" He asked.
Dahlia narrowed her eyes. He was pushing his luck.
"Dahla," he whined. "I'm so terribly sorry if I've been too cruel to you lately," he begged, his cold eyes warmed with innocence.
He was a horrible actor.
Dahlia let him plead a little longer, seeing what else he might offer.
"I'll ask Theo anything you want..."
"Fine," Dahlia mumbled quickly.
Xavier might be able to get the real truth out of Theo and find out just how close he was to breaking her bond with Draco. She would do whatever it took to keep him from upsetting the natural shifts of balance, disrupting the flow of destiny, and murdering more stars — her precious lifetimes and innocent timelines.
She held out her hand. Xavier took it without hesitating, slapping his fingers into hers and holding tight. He winced uncomfortably as Dahlia shifted through his future and read an array of options and bad choices. She searched for the least dangerous of all paths, the one that led to the most wealth without risk. Then she found a thin branch hiding beneath the brush of fallen stars — a choice made that would always lead him home to Eloise, night after night, and keep him safely in bed at her side. He smiled more here. Less cold and a little less lonely. He didn't know it yet, but wealth couldn't buy his peace. She wrapped her stars around that one and hoped he would make it true.
She felt the chill of intuition, her gift, settle deep inside him. He inhaled sharply, feeling the brief wave of impending doom that would rise once more at the opportune moment. Dahlia opened her eyes and released his hand.
"When you sense it again someday, go home to her," she whispered gently.
He crossed his arms across his chest, almost skeptical. "That's it?" He asked.
"That's it," she answered.
He simmered in silence, eyes captivated in judgment and disbelief.
"What do you see? Is it one future?" He asked, unable to help his curiosity.
"No," she laughed. "I see choices that lead to multiple endings. Some are more definite than others. Some choices are unchangeable even."
His eyes finally broke into something that might be grateful. He angled his head towards Eloise, then flashed his eyes in her direction.
Dahlia smiled. It was an unspoken question. "Yes," she whispered.
A boyish grin cracked across his intimidating features. A blush accompanied it, and Dahlia realized she had never seen him wear such pure happiness. He shook his head as if he finally believed he could trust his instincts — he had made the right choices for once.
He exhaled a breath he hadn't known he had been holding. "I fucking knew it."
— — — — — — — — — —
Time magic was incredibly finicky yet, of course, terribly precise. It also happened to be absolutely illegal, which is why the Nott brothers were both obsessed with the tedious art. To own time would be to own the world and all of chance. Theo often wondered if Luck was really a lady. If so, he would tell her that her days were fucking numbered.
"I'm quite shocked you haven't attempted this on your own," Alex mumbled, squatting down to meet the rusting table at eye level as he manipulated metal into finely pulled strings. Magic danced delicately from the edge of his rough fingers, inventor's hands like Theo's own.
Theo leaned back against one of the several copper beams within the greenhouse, oxidized and weathered long ago to now match the swirling sapphire hues of the stained glass panels that rested between them. The shine of the moon rippled through the greenhouse, cradling them in an effervescent glow as if they were crafted within the depths of the bluest seas.
"There are only so many illegal acts of magic I can get away with in a school year before I begin to draw attention to myself," Theo sighed.
He tilted his head back and admired how the glass dome reached high to kiss the night. Dahlia would love this place, he thought. The beam groaned under Theo's pressing weight as if the entire structure might be flicked over like a house of cards.
"Wouldn't want that," his brother teased sarcastically. Alex glanced over his shoulder. "Little quidditch captain," he jabbed for extra measure.
"Good attention can be conveniently distracting," Theo quipped.
Alex shook his head, still focused on warping the metal into several rings. "Please, spare me excuses. You've always craved attention."
"I am second-born. Only natural, I suppose," Theo reasoned with a bored shrug. "Would hate to be as pretentious as a first-born," he taunted.
Alex snorted, flipping the page of a black leather journal without removing his eyes from the threads of titanium. "Mother doted on you too much as a child. I blame her."
"Now you're just being an arse." Theo kicked off the chilled copper and hovered over his brother's shoulder, observing him carefully as he spun his own time-turner around his finger. His brother had been enchanting threads of metal for nearly three hours, fortifying them with unbreakable strength. If one thread were to crack under the pressure of the time-bending charm, the results could be catastrophic. The magic could radiate from the metal and seep into space, forming new alternate endings of time.
"Stop...breathing on me," Alex grumbled.
Theo rolled his eyes and then took a step back. "How exactly did you learn to do this? I can hardly find any text on how time-turners are constructed."
A sly grin drifted across his brother's face.
"Our grandfather left me behind some journals. He died before you were born, as you know, but Mum used to leave me with him sometimes. He was harmless. Lived in a musty shack away from all this." Alex motioned back towards their manor. It loomed like a shadow of an old and ancient beast in the distance.
"He didn't much care for fancy things," he shrugged as if he could relate.
Theo rolled his eyes, not buying it. The only thing Alex loved more than constantly complaining was a finely aged bottle of fire whisky and as if his brother had ever worn polyester.
"Anyway, mum threw a fit one morning when she found me chewing on an hourglass. Ripped it from my mouth and sent him a howler. She screamed on and on about how dangerous and irresponsible he was for allowing me to crawl around his dusty hole unsupervised." Alex smiled, seemingly appreciative of even the moments of her anger in their mother's death.
"When he passed, he apparently left me the same hourglass and some journals, along with some other things in his will. Didn't think anything of it till I was much older, and realized I had been biting on a time-turner. He was a real lunatic, if I'm honest. Don't really remember him, but the writings..."
Alex shook his head with widened eyes, the rantings of a crazed man difficult to forget.
"He wrote the directory of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, didn't he?" Theo asked, scrounging up anything he could remember about his grandfather.
"Allegedly..."
"Allegedly?" Theo questioned.
"He wrote everything down," Alex mumbled, tossing the open journal to his brother. "You know.." his brother turned as if his mind sparked to a thought. "It has always struck me — it's quite curious the directory was published around the time Voldemort-"
"The Dark Lord," Theo interjected.
"Tom Riddle began to learn of his own heritage. He soon adopted pureblood supremacist ideals with the help of that very text. Since the old bat — Merlin rest his soul — locked himself away in a shack, it makes you wonder if our grandfather regretted writing it."
Theo peered up from under a furrowed brow. "Allegedly, of course."
"Of course." Alex nodded with a smirk.
Theo let his heart swell momentarily, pleased they were finally making headway. He wondered if this is what it was supposed to feel like to count on your kin, undoubtedly. Love someone unconditionally, even if they can't be forgiven. It was a unique comfort to know he could be absolutely wretched, and his brother would still have to love him, even if he hated himself for it. He smiled to himself, flipping through the pages of his grandfather's journal as Alex worked. It melted into a grimace as the words on the page became nonsensical, then illegible.
"What makes you wonder," Theo started, tossing the journal back on the table, "is if tinkering with new magic will also land us in a poorly decorated hovel eventually."
Alex laughed with a touch of grief, and Theo was quickly reminded that there was no 'eventually' in his brother's future.
"Tatters wouldn't allow it. He likes you far too much to let you end up with pleather couches," Alex chuckled, making light of his grim circumstance.
"He is quite sentimental, that elf." Theo angled his head, noticing the small hourglass upon the table for the first time. He picked it up and inspected it closely, rubbing his finger across the teeth marks in the flat, wooden top.
"It was a prototype," Alex spoke without averting his attention. "Could only reverse back time for five minutes. One of his first. The one I crafted for you allows you to turn back time for up to five hours."
"Theoretically, how far back could I turn time with this?" Theo extended his hand lazily. The five thin bands of gold woven together glimmered in the candlelight. They connected and crossed as one beneath a gem of floating sand on the underside of his middle finger.
Alex raised his shoulders curiously. "As far as you wish. How far back have you gone?"
"Seven years..." Theo muttered before he had the urge to fight the answer.
His brother stilled but wouldn't shift his gaze. The room was too silent, filled with his reasoning. "And how long do you stay?" Alex asked quietly.
"Five hours," Theo whispered. He wished that was true, that he could bear having that much time back with her instead of just minutes.
"Theo..."
It was an incredulous breath. "Why would you do that to yourself?"
Theo shrugged, unwilling to answer. He saw the subtle cue in body language — his brother switching tactics.
Alex sighed. "You know I don't even recall the last thing I said to her? I don't think I want to know. It was probably something ridiculous. A complaint about Snape being mean to me or that Tatters bent one of my comic books."
"I couldn't even remember her face," Theo replied, ashamed to even say it. He thought he might have been too young to properly commit anything to memory, but he knew it was a lie. He remembered the smell of her hair, how it would fall in his face as she squeezed him tightly when he would cry, which was all too often. He remembered that she loved him no matter how he misbehaved — throwing priceless china, screaming ferociously, coloring the Malfoy's walls, snapping his father's wand, thinking that would stop him.
Alex exhaled heavily, knowing he had gotten the true answer he wished for and also knowing that he would've hated it regardless of what left his mouth.
"She was undoubtedly beautiful, honestly..."
Theo placed his hands in his pockets, uncomfortable.
Until she poisoned herself, he thought. Until she left her children with a viper.
He could never blame her for it, though. He blamed his father for cracking her head open all those times she showed anyone, but him, kindness.
"I mean, look at us, handsome lads," Alex replied quietly, a rueful half-smile on his lips as he shared in Theo's unspoken thoughts.
Theo raised his brow in silent agreement, stepping to the table again as his brother finished. "She would have liked this. Us, on the same side for once," he mumbled.
Alex slowly grinned as he turned to face him. "The same side? Theodore, are you finally admitting that you might be becoming a good man?"
"Never," Theo chuckled smoothly. "Just that we have shared interest in the defeat of the Dark Lord." He paused, scoffing. "I'm sorry. Are you insinuating that you think you're a good man? Because you're a real shit."
"Oh, shut the fuck up and come watch," Alex retorted, motioning for Theo to join him at the table finally.
"Alright," his brother sighed. "This metal should be strong enough to hold through anything."
"Even the breaking of a timeline?" Theo questioned.
"Theoretically. Never know until we try," Alex shrugged.
"May I?" Theo reached hesitantly for the new time-turner.
His brother nodded. Theo picked up the small sphere. It was just how he had drawn it, the structure of time. It was constructed of several bands, some smaller and simpler while others larger and more complex. They folded into each other neatly to lay flat in his hand, all tethered together in one way or another by one thread that pulled through the center. A center that had been left empty, waiting for an encased time reversal charm and a source of power.
"You want to try the charm? You practice it?" Alex asked.
"Obviously," Theo grumbled. He picked up the small grains of sand, representing the flowing nature of time. They floated above the palm of his hand, dancing like a constellation as he began to focus his magic.
"Tempore solutus. Tempore solutus..." He continued until the sand bound itself. Blue wisps danced in his palm, encircling the sand and hardening into an unbreakable glass. It appeared fragile and delicate in his rough hands. He thought of Dahlia and how much he missed her.
"It's perfect. I'd expect nothing less from you," Alex said, slapping his shoulder. "I'm assuming Dahlia infused a drop of her power into that ring."
Theo nodded. "Blood and tears," he mumbled quietly, almost ashamed. She had gifted this ring to him, and he would break it too, just like her heart.
He paused, doubtful of if he still wanted to do this. "You know, this old seer in the dragon pits told me that if someone were to steal this from me, they could steal years of her life."
His brother's eyes widened in surprise. "That doesn't worry you at all?" He scoffed.
Theo shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't sure he could part with the ring. He wasn't sure when he spun this new time-turner that it would pull its source of power from her own life. What if he killed her? When all he wanted was to save her. But there was no other way to find the Fates.
"Sleep on it, brother. We have time." Alex held out his hands, grinning at his own joke. They did have time. They had nothing but time — all of it now. They were its true masters, not Dahlia or her cursed gods.
He had spent so many nights revering, adoring, hallowing her. Newer nights were spent wishing he could pray against her skin again. Theo closed his fingers around the time-turner — time-breaker. He wondered if this made him something worth worship, if Dahlia might kneel before him now, or if this made him everything she feared — a titan.