The forest went still and silent, holding its breath, quietly sensing a new, different breed of predator within the hazy mist. A lone wisp of cloud crossed the waning moon, plunging them deeper into the shadows.

Dahlia stepped back, leaving Theo's hand no choice but to fall at his side, paralyzed by her forsaken warmth. Disappointment lingered in his expression, but not surprise. He wiped the pucker from his mouth, soured that the truth had put a wedge between him.

"Who are they?" Dahlia breathed, barely registering the question had fallen from her lips. She knew who they were, who called him the god's killer from the grove. Her stars and all the seers who came before her had suffered to weave this thread—weave the perfect narrative.

Theo shrugged, throwing his hands into his pockets as if grappling with her absence from within his arms. She studied him in a new light as he answered the real question she had fumbled to articulate. He angled his chin to the starlight as if it was the only way to drink her in now.

"I can only assume my namesake has been cursed with such a gift by someone who also believes fate is a cage and destiny is an abuse of free will," he answered in a low hush, perfectly at peace with the notion as he shifted his weight.

The true paleness beyond his tanned, golden skin was accentuated in the dimness of her stars. It skittered in ripples, damning him fantastically. His handsomeness was a crime, a clue that he was a bit otherworldly, too. Something sinister had always lingered beneath his crass charm. He had always known it—fought against it. He had told her he had demons. He had promised to slay them for her, but as he stood so casually in chilled serenity, she realized he had accepted that he was what he fought against. He knew his nature and no longer had any qualms about it. He could unravel what had been woven, break the very loom if he dared.

He waited for her to take it in, at ease with himself. Maybe there had been a flicker of fight when he had returned to her at the shores and told her he had been wrong and that this life—this small love—was enough for him, but it was gone. She had snuffed it out, ruining him by accepting her own destiny.

They were all pawns. No one was at fault, but Theo needed someone to blame, craved a victim for his demented justice.

A wash of fresh adrenaline had her head spinning and her skin prickling. The dense fog was suddenly suffocating. She desperately gasped for crisp air, but only the forest filled her lungs.

Theo took a slow, prowling step towards her as she choked again, panicking for enough air. Erratic and reeling, she asked the only question that came to mind at the moment.

"Are you human?"

Theo scoffed, chuckling as his shoulders relaxed. "Don't be ridiculous."

He continued towards her, grinning worse than the devil as if his nonchalance should bring comfort. With his dragon's maw at her back, Dahlia remained perfectly still.

Theo loomed over her, standing intimately close. He flicked his wand and ran it across his palm, holding it out for her to see. The crimson stream that emerged from the paper-thin cut did little to settle her anxieties.

"I'm perfectly mortal, love. Just cursed," he whispered, undisturbed. The silence between them was miserable. The small creatures of the forest called to each other, and the buzzing fireflies danced around them to ease the tension.

He motioned with two blood-soaked fingers for her to give him her palm.

"How long have you known all of this?" Dahlia nearly wheezed.

Her gut told her to keep her palms to her heart if only to help shield it. The moment for anything healing had passed. His hazy spell, breathed in like the sweetest aphrodisiac earlier, had been broken. He had kissed her forehead only minutes ago. Now, she wasn't even sure if she was safe out here alone with him.

He raised his brow expectantly. His golden rings gleamed in blood as he wiggled his pointer and middle fingers again, more sternly. She quickly realized this was a trade, but was the truth worth what he wished to take?

After a thick moment of hesitation, Dahlia reluctantly outstretched her hand. Theo lightly grazed the center of her palm with a curious hunger.

Maybe he didn't have all the answers, she realized.

He studied the coloring beneath her veins, and Dahlia couldn't help but count the lines by his almond eyes. She wanted to count the golden flecks within his irises. She could snatch his Time-Turner, see if she could stop this moment. That way he might never know she had done such a thing.

He finally let out a sigh. His warm breath danced across her flushed cheeks. The disappointment it carried was a shot in the heart. He was equally pained as he was curious by the blackness of her veins. She felt like a wound, bleeding out in crippling spite. She had never been more sure of herself, but he couldn't see it, or maybe he did and hated it.

He finally lifted his eyes to her beneath heavy lashes, the gold of his irises only gleaming in the shadows of a lazily breathing Valeria at her back. His gaze begged to ask what she had done to herself when he had been away. Instead, he gave her an answer to uphold their trade—a touch for a truth.

"The book I left for Eloise was oddly specific, don't you think?" He grinned crookedly, dimples dancing as he refused to wait for her to answer. "I left it there in case I needed—leverage. It's from my own library, Dahlia. I read that book so long ago that I had forgotten it entirely. We have many archival books on the forest surrounding our estate—fairytales, curses, hauntings..."

He smiled true, as if the our in his statement suggested it was meant for her—their future. A kernel of fear arose within her bones. A deep, unsettled intuition.

Theo bit his lip, furrowing his brows as he ran his fingers through her whiter strands of hair. He held them to the starlight, trying to piece together what had changed, but there wasn't a shot in hell that she would tell him what had transpired in the marsh at her mother's home.

"You're so beautiful," he murmured like he hated it, like he might be jealous.

"I scoured the shelves of my library the morning after you and Draco kissed in my forest," he continued. You've always known I'm bad at sharing by nature, but I knew then that I wouldn't let him, or anyone else, have you in the end. You'll always be mine, even when you might think you aren't."

She remembered how they had sat in his courtyard within his mother's gardens, and promised each other to begin again, yet he had spent the entire day locked in the library, obsessed and sick over her just before.

He grinned, all too charming as if he had just given her a gift. It was the viciousness in his eyes that shook her to the core. Think of what I would do for you, they suggested. He looked horribly like his brother, even his father, but that was the last thing he would ever want to know.

He's deranged, she thought unkindly for the first time.

Their love was a sickness, and while it had nearly smothered her blue, it left him wildly fevered and delirious in his obsession. Dahlia's hand shook in his palm, and she bit her lip to let out a whimper as she told herself not to fear him.

He would never hurt me, she thought.

She so desperately needed that to be true.

Dahlia was too lost in her thoughts to register Theo pressing his wand into her palm. She gasped as he cut into her skin, carrying on his confession all so casually.

"I've known about the Fool's Potion that corrects destiny since that night in October when I rediscovered that book," he sighed. "I learned about the No-Name Prince in November when Eloise accidentally revealed the full prophecy to me in the library."

Theo's eyes flickered upwards, his lips pursed, suggesting she should be more careful about sharing her secrets. Dahlia could do nothing, say nothing, but watch the darkened blood pour from her palm, shimmering with pure power as it found starlight.

She hissed, but he held her hand firmly, tilting it towards the moon to marvel. "And I learned that the title was my cursed birthright the day before Christmas Eve," he mumbled, mesmerized as if she were a confined creature for display.

"I had it all planned for us. I had you waiting for me at the Malfoy's during the largest drunken party of the year. We could have run together, and no one would have known where you might have gone. We could have gone to the bath of voices and made something to break your burden of him—together. I had the Fool's Potion, my brother, to help with the Time-Turner to find where you go in the stars when you aren't in the same plane as me..."

Theo grinned as he held her darkened blood to the meek moonlight. He was in awe as he worshipped how the liquid from her veins shimmered even in the blackness of the forest. His eyes alight with envy—of her. The purpose and power she held.

It felt like a freefall, just a moment away from the brutal break as the truth was freed. Her stomach sank to an endless depth, denying that he could withhold so much from her. She remembered how certain in his chaos he had been in the Malfoy's library, promising to kill the Fates to break her binds to Draco.

Her chest caved, mouth parting as he brought her blood down from the moonlight and painted his tongue with it. He groaned as if given ichor and sugar, tasting what he had taken from her without much permission. The hair on her skin rose; it was such an intimate sound that she hadn't heard in a long time.

She was paralyzed as he laced his fingers with hers and brought her palm to his mouth. He licked the stream of her blood, tongue grazing from her wrist to her inner elbow, moaning as if it were better than sex. He didn't crave her blood; he craved the power she held. He craved having the love, the control, of something Divine.

She couldn't help it—the remembrance of Draco's voice and how he thought the Dark Lord wouldn't be able to resist controlling someone closer to a god than his own self.

Theo's eyes met hers, unrelenting in his worship and obsession. The haze in his irises cleared as he came down from her high, and he softened. The terror must have been easily noticed as he attempted to soothe her.

Theo brought their interlaced fingers to his beating heart. He hushed her as he did when she would fall asleep in his arms. He spoke in that lyrical drawl that she dreamed of so much, but still, she was desensitized to it. He took her other hand, their bloody palms painting each other awfully.

"Your gift is only a curse, Dahlia," he whispered above her ear as she trembled in his dark touch.

"I watched as the Fates terrorized your dreams, nearly broke you and blinded you only to show you your own death," he pleaded, voice swaddling her in tempting silk.

"You shouldn't be burdened with the knowledge of others' futures. It's unnatural and unfair. You're a pawn for your gods. Who says they even are gods?"

He pulled back from her ear, and tucked her loose curls away. "Darling, please, let me free you from your cage."

Dahlia swallowed her thoughts, afraid to voice them. She shook her head and pressed her lips together as his mouth neared hers. Destiny wasn't a cage. It was a responsibility and her birthright—their birthright. Hers and Draco's. He had given her the courage to see that. The only person who sought to cage her was caressing her cheek and whispering sweet poison of how he might please her.

Dahlia put her hands against his chest and gently pushed him back. "Draco-"

"He's just a curse, Dahlia," Theo murmured, bringing his bloodied palm to her cheek to paint her crimson. He dared to leave his mark on her as if he hadn't already done so, wretchedly and permanently.

His hot blood smeared across her cheek, and he pushed himself against her as his other hand found the small of her back. Dahlia turned, denying him. She squirmed as she felt him hardening for her, but she went perfectly still as she felt something peculiar in his pocket.

She brought her hand down from his chest, and he smirked as if he had gotten her to break, like he thought she wanted this as much as he did. The grin fell from his face as she prodded the object hidden beneath fabric in his pocket. It was a small glass vial.

Her heart skipped a beat as his eyes darkened and she realized what it was.

"Is that all you want from me?" He asked in a sultry daze, but he couldn't fool her. He was calculating as he always did. "When I can give you so much more," he added, bringing her hand from the potion to his cock.

Had he brought the potion for her to drink? To force it down her throat?

In a flash of anger, Dahlia took hold of his wrist and shoved his hand away from her face. "Don't touch me," she threatened, quivering with hot tears. She scoffed, almost snarling. "Did you really think I would drink that foul potion for you?"

She must have looked insane, cheek stained with his blood. It was smeared in her hair and running down her arm. She was shaking, fighting to control the raging well within her. She wanted to hurt him, and whatever sourced her blackened starlight was tempting her to do so.

Even if she did crave him—wanted to make herself sick with him one more time—it felt as if he had violated her space and defiled her trust.

He pursed his lips, fighting a visceral reaction to her mockery. She shook off his touch as if lingered, and breathed in a gulp of fresh air.

"How dare you," she sniffled, chastising him with a sneer. "Did you think you could control me?"

She turned her back on him, squeezing her tears away. This was a mistake. Why was she always making this same mistake? How did they always have the same conversations about nothing and everything?

She felt him at her back, and before she knew it they were pushing and pulling until he finally had her by the wrist, pinned against the back of the body of an old tree. The mist settled around them. He hung his head, his dark curls resting on her collarbone as if the truth had exhausted him and her physical rejection was worse than anything she could say.

Dahlia clenched her teeth, fighting back a sob or a scream. She hated him, and she hated herself for ever allowing him into her life.

"It's all right, Dahlia," he murmured.

But it wasn't.

The tension and accusations were left unspoken in the dead air, but it wasn't enough to dance around them. Dahlia dared to toss the stones and breathe what they had silently vowed to never give life.

She relaxed in his grip. Still, he wouldn't meet her eyes again.

"You're disturbed and controlling," She whispered, stuck between pity and hate. "Suffocatingly so..."

Her voice broke, unable to cleanse her mind of the moment she had seen him with that Hufflepuff who looked so much like her. She tried desperately to bury that betrayal back in the deepest crook of her mind, but it wouldn't stay dead. How could he have dared to ask her to drink that potion after groveling for forgiveness that evening at the Malfoys? How could he dare to ask her now after everything?

"You never controlled me," Dahlia said. "I chose to be lenient because I had my faults—ones you were quick to make known. I never asked you where you went when you disappeared at parties or flirted with other girls. I gave you grace even when you went to despicable lengths to make that fucking potion, then lied about doing so to my face."

She felt him go still without a breath. He lifted his head from her neck and watched a horrible tear escape her brimming eyes. There was no anger to be found in his face, just a regretful brokenness.

His lips parted, but he was speechless. It wouldn't matter what he said, anyway.

"And all because no one else can have me—right?" She fought the burning of her throat. "But everyone can have you?" She rasped quietly and abashed, sniffling and unable to wipe her nose. She breathed out a shaky breath, purging the last of the heartbreak. It drifted upon his skin.

"Dahlia, baby. No, no, no," he frantically whispered, pulling her tightly into his chest with gentleness as if she were a bird with broken wings. His hands slid to her waist.

There it was. The shift from having the upper hand to damage control.

She grimaced ruefully. He thought he could fix her this time. It was so predictable and played out. He didn't know that someone else had already done it for him.

"I love you," he whispered. "You're my Dahlia. You're wildcard."

He didn't deny anything at all. He was so careful not to lie to her in case it came back to haunt him. It was only confirmation, but did she even need it? He had always called them both liars and cheaters. He loved her tirelessly but could never get it right.

"I never should have abandoned you—left you with him. I'm so sorry, Dahlia."

She pushed his hand away as he traced a finger beneath the fabric of her shirt, but he didn't give up. He cupped his palms on the hollow of her neck, his gilded fingers resting on her cheeks. "I'm better now, Dahlia. I'm a better man now."

Dahlia held her breath, transfixed by the gleam of the Time-Turner upon her skin. She slowly brought her delicate touch to the smooth metal.

He must have read what was in her eyes.

"Do you want to go back, Dahlia?" he whispered. We can do it. Start over and disregard the consequences. I could fix this."

His eyes shone bright with hope as he thought there was a solution to gaining back her love. He looked younger for a moment, boyish and happy, denying completely that even if he never allowed Draco to have her in the end, what lay between them could never be repaired.

"Did you?" The question bore through her bones and pierced the air.

Were you as unfaithful to me as I was to you? Were you a bigger liar? If we went back would it heal the hate I have for you? Turn it to love again?

She had been so unwilling to accept this heartbreak.

His lips tightened, fully aware of what she meant but ready to deflect and deny. He shook his head, answering the only question she had truly asked this evening.

"Dahlia, the potion was never meant for you. Why would I want you to drink something that could kill you, my love? It was always for Draco."

—

Dahlia couldn't recall the exact moment she had broken free from Theo. All she knew was there must have been an opportune moment to act on her screaming intuition. Maybe he had loosened his grip, thinking his truth had bought him more leverage. Maybe he had let go only briefly to run his hands through her hair once more.

All she knew now was that her lungs ached for air as she ran like hell. She couldn't get away from him fast enough, but she couldn't outrun him either.

She gasped wildly, unsure if she was sprinting towards the castle or deeper into the forest. Nothing sounded but the crunch of the forest floor beneath her step and the hoots of lonesome owls.

Please, she pleaded with the stars. Guide me.

She looked over her shoulder, spotting his dark curls cutting through the mist. He was gaining on her. She could never outrun him, and so she had no other choice.

Her feet slid in the moist dirt as she abruptly came to a stop. Theo's footsteps sounded behind her, closing in. She closed her eyes, apparating in a shrill panic to leave Theo grasping for nothing but shimmering air.

Dahlia materialized a few meters ahead, breathing heavily as she backed into a fallen tree that had been reclaimed by the forest floor. He grinned, spotting her.

Dahlia swallowed her dread. He only grinned because he knew he was so much better at this than her. Without a thought, he cracked into the night.

Dahlia followed suit, not waiting for him to materialize behind her. He chased her like this, tormenting her until she was exhausted, his black haze devouring her glimmering white smoke.

She materialized upon the roots of a tree that appeared to be hundreds of years old. Its trunk towered to the stars. The tree rustled its budding leaves as if she had disturbed its decades of slumber, giving way to her hiding spot.

The forest went silent, and she knew he was near.

She wiped the beads of sweat from her forehead, unable to catch her breath.

"You've proven your point, love," he called from somewhere. His lazy drawl echoed through the maze of trees. It was now or never.

Dahlia closed her eyes, focusing too late as she choked on thick, black smoke.

She cried out, having pulled him with her when she apparated and landed flat on her back. He landed on top of her, and she quickly pushed him off.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," she sputtered through clenched teeth. A familiar pain in her side resurfaced.

Theo reached out to help her, but Dahlia was still reeling in her rage, drowning in her hatred for him. She slapped him hard across his cheek with an open palm. The impact resounded through the forest, and all went quiet except their heavy breathing.

He stilled, eying her with annoyance.

"I hate you," she breathed, watching how he casually licked the blood from his lip.

"You wanted the truth." He fought with her as he peeled her shirt up to reveal a nasty splinch. It was becoming her signature party trick.

"Now, can we move on?" He asked, sighing in exhaustion. "I can't fight with you anymore, Dahlia."

The gall of this man was unbelievable, but Dahlia bit her tongue. She had tired herself out emotionally and physically for the night.

"I can heal it myself," she growled as he placed his bare hands against the wound on her stomach.

"No, you can't," he shot back, slapping her hand away. "You're exhausted."

Dahlia thrashed, slapping him again only because she felt so helpless when he was around. "I wish I had never met you. You're a fucking monster."

Theo clenched her wrist so she couldn't take another shot at him. The seething sneer on his face gave her the impression that he wished he could tape her mouth shut, too.

She whimpered as he placed his other hand, warm and gilded like a prince, upon her bare midriff. Dahlia watched as her skin began to weave itself back together under his touch.

"You have foul manners," he growled before closing his eyes, concentrating on healing her splinch. He mumbled a spell. She lifted her eyes to watch how the wind blew his curls softly as he did so.

She squeezed them shut, wishing it would make a difference if they could turn back time and start over. They could never erase the pain from the choices they had both made. It would live on in memory—always.

"Take me to Draco," she mumbled, crestfallen and exhausted.

He opened his eyes, a world of hurt and defiance within them.

"No," he answered, relaxing his hands flat on her stomach.

The broken silence persisted, unlike her.

"Take me to him," she pleaded, voice small.

"No," he repeated. "I'd do anything for you, but not that." His voice shattered, gutted that she would ask him to do something he found so awful.

She sheepishly shook her head, refusing to wipe his wet cheek or her own. The tears were proof that they were bad for each other—destructive and poisonous.

"I'll bring you back to bed," he whispered, compromising a great deal.

She nodded.

He stood with her in his arms, cradled like a worn doll. She gripped the fabric of his shirt at his chest with white knuckles as he apparated, leaving the forest with two less lovers.

—

They materialized in her dormitory. It was soundless in the absence of her roommates, who were both probably in a deep slumber by now within the dungeons.

Theo carried her into the bathroom and set her down on the counter of the vanity. They didn't bother to light any candles, preferring the simple moonlight.

"I don't like you this way..."

She whispered as if the night demanded it.

He raised his brows to her as he shuffled through the mess on the countertop but held his tongue. He didn't voice the irony that she had preferred him a liar and often hated truths.

"And I don't quite like the choices you made either, Dahl," he sighed. "But I do love you."

She watched him wordlessly as he took a balled-up washcloth and wetted it with soap and warm water in the sink by her thigh. He rang it out, frustratingly so, before bringing it to wipe away the blood on her face.

She allowed it, staring into his golden eyes as he cleansed her face and then moved on to her forearm. The simple action that could be accomplished with magic carried an apology. Regret was written across the lovesick lines on his forehead, but she remained impassive. His touch was rough despite an attempted gentleness.

She squirmed as she fought the urge to tilt his chin up to her eyes again. Balling her fist, she was tempted to brush her hands through his hair.

"What are you thinking about?" She asked quietly as he washed the cloth in the sink, ridding it of blood and tears.

He didn't answer for a long while, and Dahlia was okay with that. She had learned the hard way that it was better not to know all of his thoughts.

Dahlia brought her hand to his cheek, guiding his gaze to hers. Theo turned off the running water and sighed as if asking her what she needed now.

Dahlia roiled with what-ifs, weighing traitorous consequences, pitting the good and the bad within her heart against each other. Admitting that Theo might be the badness was painful but necessary. Realizing that she couldn't bring herself to betray Draco as she had done to Theo was clarity.

Dahlia dropped her hand. It would always be Draco.

"My mother would hate the way I've treated you," he mumbled, disgusted by himself. He squeezed the last of the water from the cloth and threw it into the pile of dirty laundry at his side.

It wasn't a question or something that felt right to comment on, so she remained quiet. Her own mother would hate the decisions she had made, too. She was reckless—messy.

He motioned with both of his hands for her to come to him before picking her up off the counter and placing her on steady feet. He stood a hair behind her, shadowing her as she crossed the dormitory. She kicked off her shoes and socks and crawled into her bed. He knelt at her bedside.

Once under her sheets and blankets, she shimmied off her pants and her long-sleeve shirt. He watched as she did so with a hurt that suggested he missed being the one to crawl in next to her. The guilt he wore was proof that he knew he had blown it from the start.

They stared and studied each other, Dahlia resting on her side and Theo on his knees. He watched her adoringly as she gazed upon the Time-Turner he wore, and for a moment, she wondered if he might let her wear it.

The silence between them felt intimate only because they were honest.

"Tomorrow is always a new day," he whispered. A promise that he would do anything for her laced with the hope in the words. "Don't forget that."

But Dahlia couldn't think that way.

"Goodnight," she whispered light like a goodbye.

He glided his calloused hand across the side of her forehead, brushing away her hair with a woeful expression.

"Goodnight," he answered.

Dahlia closed her eyes, unsure of when he might have left or when exactly Draco had snuck in and snaked his arm around her waist.