Theo wasn't quite sure what to make of his reflection anymore. On this particular morning, he wasn't sure if he even liked himself anymore. His hatred had a growing pulse, pumping relentlessly through his thickened veins.
He stared into the smudged glass as the dormitory gurgled and groaned. The lake's currents were strong today, the tide unforgiving as it pushed and pulled against the constructs of the dungeons. This wasn't the first occasion the lake attempted to unearth the salty stone and spit the dungeons up like a taste that had grown sour. After all, there was only room for so many beasts within its water.
Theo pulled on his jaw, inspecting the scar beneath the bone. The tendered skin on his neck was from a rose bush he had often hidden within as a child. It was a steady constant, whether his complexion was deadly pale or harmlessly golden. If it was bruised and bloodied or freshly shaven. No matter how despicable or how close he got to mimicking a perfect gentleman—someone Narcissa or his mother could be proud of—that small patch of whitened skin shackled his boots to the morbid reality; he was just another beast within the dungeons of the Black Lake.
Stuck—and achieving nothing at all.
Neither by chance nor destiny.
He reprimanded himself. But the words of his house were only a temporary hold on the growing crack that threatened to wash away his resilience. The oppressive words of the Malfoys were nothing but the cruel ocean that pleaded to drown him on the other side.
Purity Will Always Conquer.
Theo white-knuckled the chilled black stone of the sink.
Always conquer. Always conquer.
He tortured himself, twisting old memories to serve an agenda out of rotting envy. Maybe Draco's disgusted sneer had also been directed towards him—not just the muggles or mudbloods. Perhaps he had sharpened his smirk like a knife, waiting all those years to plunge the blade into his back.
Theo pushed off the sink and straightened his posture. He smoothed his hair back, looking hard into his own gold-flecked eyes. His muscles were strong again. He was tall and still thought himself crisply handsome after everything. His hair had even returned to the perfect length she desired, yet he would never look as he did when she had loved him. She didn't see hope anymore in the faults of his smile. She didn't see potential.
He spun his old Time-Turner, sick with the longing to know what it might feel like to have everything he had ever wanted.
He could break Draco's tie to her, but she would call that newfound freedom a murder—which it might be, semantically. He could mercifully take the world off her back so she might rest with him, but she would deem that genocide. The millions of stars—threads of time—would have to cross, break, and perish. She would never forgive him. But just maybe, new stars would erupt in their place to rewrite the universe. How could her stars die if they had now never existed at all?
She preserves the balance, and I would be switching out the scales.
He soured, scrunching his nose into a hardened sneer. She would hate him for it.
This could all be fucking pointless. All his work—a god-damned waste.
He heard the growing thrum of his heart pulsing in his ears.
In a rotten mood, Theo wrenched open the door and slammed it shut behind him. He strode with a grudge towards his armoire, glancing at Xavier, who was straightening out his things on his bed. An iron whistled as it steamed his uniform behind him. He hummed along, poisoned with happiness—lovesick in the best of ways.
Theo cleared his throat, voice still groggy with sleep. "Would you happen to know Eloise's whereabouts on this fine morning?"
Xavier sobered. The gleam fell from his eyes as he grew skeptical. "Yes," he finally sighed. "But I won't share them with you—for your safety, not hers."
Xavier's expression hardened before he returned to organizing his papers.
Theo knew it wasn't wise to push his luck. He pouted with a nasty curl of his lip. He admired Eloise's stubbornness and lack of forgiveness, but it could be grating. He needed to confide in her before he acted on a whim. She was pragmatic, forcing him to find the flaws in his own reason.
Blaise entered the room with a giddy smirk. "Your damsel from the other night is waiting for you in the common room."
Xavier snorted, always amused by everyone's mistakes but his own. He practically frothed at the mouth if whispers were happening without him.
Theo wordlessly slammed his trunk shut, a warning glare pointed at the both of them.
Blaise giggled. "Better skip along. Wait too long, and Amelia might reveal something unkind about you—if she hasn't already." Blaise's dark eyes widened gleefully.
"There is nothing kind about me," Theo sharply quipped. "Amelia can tell her that."
He pulled on a shirt, in no mood to be teased.
Xavier quelled his laughter. "Come on, mate. You did nothing wrong. You're a free man." He couldn't hide the taunt from his smirk. "And Dahlia is likely to be an engaged woman when—"
"Get fucked, Grey." Theo's stomach turned as he blindly shoved items into his bag. His own emotions felt abrasive, rubbing raw inside him.
"Theo," Blaise sighed. It was wise yet terribly condescending. "So clever but clueless, smiting the heart of the woman you wish to woo."
"He has needs!" Xavier exclaimed, rolling his eyes.
"Needs you should have met with your hand if you wanted her back."
A throaty gasp escaped him as Lucas's gloomy, deep voice chimed through the dormitory. He leaned forward on the sofa as if he had been lying there the whole time.
Blaise screamed in fright. The noise he emitted could have been equally mistaken for Amelia or a fighting alley cat. He didn't judge as Theo also found himself gripping his chest, nearly jumping out of his skin.
"What did we talk about, Leerweather!" Xavier pointed to the patch of stone where they had written down the dormitory rules. "No ghostly loitering!"
The rule was written after 'number 18: no more measuring inappropriate things with Blaise's wand' and before 'number 20: Malfoy must remove the stick from arse before entering.'
"Kindly announce yourself!" Xavier threw his hands in the air. "He's going to give me a poke," he whined.
"You mean stroke?" Lucas muttered. "The saying is you're going to give me a stroke," he snorted. The pair quietly continued to quietly argue.
"So what will it be, Nott?" Blaise questioned with a smirk. "Shall we go? Or should I bid her toodle loo on your behalf?"
Theo snapped his bag shut, taking out any and all frustration on inanimate objects since it would be unwise to punch anyone when he was already on Dahlia's shit list. "It's not your business. I'm not sitting around in the common room—wasting my time. I have quidditch."
Xavier and Blaise shared a look of apprehension, now biting their tongues. Something unspoken passed between them. It was probably a secret that, for once, he had no desire to know.
They masked their expressions as he threw his bag over his shoulder.
"Move," Theo ordered, unamused. He retched open the door as Blaise leaned against it.
"Remember, Nott. Deep breaths!" Blaise shouted as he stumbled out of the way.
Without a word, Theo stormed down the tunnel of the dungeons.
"Rule fifty-two: always say goodbye!" Xavier rasped after him.
But Theo had learned to hate goodbyes. He hadn't had the chance to give either of his parents a decent farewell—not that his father had deserved one. Dahlia hadn't wanted one anyway that night he had left her in the Malfoy's forest to go north, and Alex hadn't bothered with a goodbye even though his days were numbered. They were pointless—a jinx.
He took a steadying breath as he headed toward the pitch, his only welcomed blessing the peace of the silent skies.
—
Theo breathed in the fresh scent of grass as it crunched beneath his boots. He strode towards the pitch alone, students parting for him as they quickly noted his grim frown. They feared his temper, his melancholy. Theo could only blame himself as second-years pressed their back to the walls at the sight of his sneer. He had given everyone in this damn place every reason to fear him, but none called for respect. He glanced above them, towards the winding trails in the far distance, unfortunately hoping he might spot the blonde strands of the woman who might as well go ahead and finish ruining his life. She was his faith, as much as she was also his misery.
No sign of her.
His shoulders fell—as if he had anything to say that Dahlia would find worth her time at the moment. It was probably best to give her space, yet his nausea grew as he considered the many scenarios of their detention later.
He lowered his gaze and picked up his pace, already running late and eager to get training.
Theo pushed back the heavy silver curtains that led to the Slytherin changing room. They were crafted from the finest velvets and silks—as if anything else would do for Hogwarts's best house.
He lifted his eyes and quickly came to a dead halt.
Draco stood in the far corner, where his old storage locker had been amicably collecting dust next to his own. It was pristine, even adorned with a fresh coat of emerald paint. He was already dressed for training, leaning on his broom as he quietly chatted with old teammates.
His teammates.
The teammates who had named Theo their captain by vote.
He hid the tension coiling through his muscles. He wouldn't give Draco the satisfaction of getting under his skin so easily—or at all.
Theo took a quiet step, exuding something close to confidence—or, so he hoped. He feigned his best smile, casually nodding back to the warm hellos. Of course, Draco had yet to notice him. Even happy, relaxed arrogance couldn't be wiped from his face. He wore it leisurely with pride—something Theo would bet Dahlia probably hated. She had never preferred outward cruelness. She was like himself, charming to the wilted core.
Annoyed, Theo tossed his bag at Draco's feet. His locker was next to his, after all. It was a simple miscalculated throw to other's eyes, but Draco would understand. He knew Theo never missed.
With the thud on his immaculate trainers, Draco sharply turned his head. He moved with calculated feline grace on the ground or in the air. He was nothing more than a tameable, predictable creature.
Theo pulled open his locker door, careful not to meet the glare drilling into him. He removed his shirt nonchalantly, hoping the sight of him undressing might remind Draco that Dahlia had sunk her nails into the skin of his chest and had pulled his warm, naked body against hers. Not once, not twice, but indefinitely.
Sickly sweet satisfaction ricocheted through him like a bullet to the heart. He hoped Draco realized he could never change the fact that she had loved him once. He was the first person that she had ever deeply fallen for. She had given her body to him in every way. He had kissed every inch of her and once prayed against her skin every night.
Theo smirked, in no rush to pull on his trousers for training despite the room clearing out. He hummed happily, thrilled to remind Draco, if only for a fleeting moment, that Dahlia had roughly taken all of him in like the good girl she pretended to be, then rode him hard enough to break them both. He wondered if Dahlia had ever given him that heaven-sent touch if she had shone like moonlight in Draco's arms.
Theo cracked his neck, tying a knot at the waistband as his trousers hung low. "Welcome back, Malfoy," Theo sighed, unbothered but seething beneath.
Draco couldn't let him keep one thing for himself. Even as children, he always had to share the toys he made for himself with Draco, who would inevitably break them. He had Dahlia, and now, no doubt, he wanted to take his position as captain too. He would punish him for Dahlia's choices—for loving him too.
Draco chuckled, cracking his knuckles and yawning as if he had had a long night—in Dahlia's bed, of course. He rarely slept in their dormitory, probably too terrified of the shadows that could steal her back. He was overbearing and perpetually aware of her every movement. He controlled every pull of her heartstrings like a marionette in his exasperatingly ruthless efforts to keep her under his thumb.
"Thank you," Draco answered without a hint of bad blood in his tone. The smug pull in the lines of a smile only confirmed that the grand manipulator thought he had won a fair game.
Draco turned and slapped his shoulder with a heavy hand, his icy gaze setting upon his golden irises, ready to set the world ablaze. "See you out there," he promised.
Theo relaxed, reveling in the prelude of violence.
—
Dahlia uncrossed and crossed her legs for the third time, rattling her ankle against the wooden stadium bench in front of Juliet and herself. The sun glared upon them without reprieve. The back of her knees were already slippery with sweat as the wind refused to play any part in this.
"Don't bite your nails," Juliet insisted, slapping Dahlia's thumbnail away from her lips. "It's not ladylike of you."
Dahlia considered throwing her an eye-roll but didn't dare look away from the pitch. Juliet had also done her a favor by accompanying her to Draco's first practice as a seeker. She was here for emotional support since she had awakened with a brick in her gut. Plus, Juliet braided her hair into a half-up, half-down coronet this morning since she had woken up early for once.
With her eyes still transfixed on the pitch, Juliet leaned closer and bumped her shoulder against hers, hoping to steal her attention. "Nothing bad will happen," she whispered. "They are capable of being mature adults about this."
Dahlia finally turned to her, eyebrows knitted with skepticism. If they had any chance to beat the shit out of each other, it was definitely now under the guise of a scrimmage with Draco finally back on the pitch.
"If they were going to brawl, they would have done it by now." Juliet's voice wavered. She hardly believed her own words.
Amelia clambered down the rows of the stadium behind them, an obnoxious snort in tow. She plopped down gracefully on the bench behind them—better for gossiping. "Slytherins like to play with their prey before they strike," she crooned.
Juliet snapped her rosy, plump cheeks towards Amelia. "Not helpful," she hissed.
"I don't like when you're mad, Jules. It looks like someone took a quill and scribbled angry eyebrows upon a babydoll." Amelia placed her chin in her palm as she leaned forward, teasing amicably.
"Don't talk to me for at least the next five minutes, you dungeon rat," Juliet fired back. She stiffly turned, beginning her breathing exercises as she closed her eyes.
Amelia chuckled, raising a brow at Dahlia. Juliet's patience had grown short lately, but she was unwilling to get anything off her chest.
Dahlia sighed. The silence brought forth the urge to fidget or bite her nails. She reached over her shoulder to squeeze Amelia's hand, which always helped to calm her down.
Amelia looked around, fingers interlaced with her own. "I see Draco's return has captivated quite the little crowd."
They were surrounded by groups of students from all years and all houses. Most were likely quidditch players or die-hard fans, eager to see just how rusty and slow Draco had gotten during his suspension.
Vultures—all of them.
Emerald cloaks finally began to emerge slowly from the tents below. The pale golden hue of the Hufflepuff cloaks reflected brilliantly in the sun. They kicked around dirt on the pitch, as they had been waiting for quite a while. Deep chuckles drifted upwards like lingering smoke through the half-empty stands.
"It's only a friendly scrimmage," Amelia reminded her.
Dahlia didn't bother to hide that she was looking for either Draco or Theo. She squinted, reaching for Juliet's tiny golden binoculars.
"Can you see Theo or Draco?" She asked, swiveling east to west and north to south with the binoculars glued to her eyes. She must have looked ridiculous. "I don't see Lucas," Dahlia confirmed.
Juliet shrugged. "He'll appear just in time. He's always tripping out of the changing rooms, pulling on his socks at the last minute."
Amelia tapped her shoulder. "To the left, Dahl."
Dahlia cracked her neck in a hurry. She finally spotted Theo, irritatingly handsome per usual. She zoomed in through the lenses only because no one would know. She tried to read his lips as he whispered to a black-haired teammate at his side. He stepped back, a troublesome grin spreading across his face. His eyes were chaotic and giddy, suggesting he was currently unmanageable. His head fell back as he quietly laughed at the other player's comment. It surely wasn't that funny, but the heated adrenaline was probably heightening his irrationality. Her stomach tightened. He was so destructively beautiful. She wished the reality of him moving on would somehow paint him uglier to her—make it easier for her to hate him.
As if sensing she had had a lovely thought about him, Theo's molten eyes snapped upwards to find her staring. He tilted his head curiously, a wash of concern quickly flashing across his face as his teammate spoke animatedly at his side. Theo raised a brow, inquiring about her well-being before quickly nodding to the other player.
Dahlia felt the redness creeping into her cheeks, more embarrassed that he was inclined to check on her mental state than the fact that he had caught her staring. Her recent behavior was mortifying—drunkenly vomiting her feelings and begging him to have a heart-to-heart in the middle of a crowd. Little did she know, he had been in the middle of courting god knows who. And worse, he had ignored her humiliating debacle and teased her yesterday like nothing was out of sorts.
Dahlia quickly removed the binoculars as if the metal device had grown too hot.
"Something happened." Dahlia grimaced.
"Malfoy probably couldn't keep his mouth shut," Amelia grumbled.
"He wouldn't do that," Dahlia replied half-heartedly. She wasn't entirely sure how much it would take to bring him to a blood rage. It took nearly nothing for Theo to have him punting students into the Black Lake, but Draco was always so composed, serene in his snide cruelty to others. She should have known he had loved her from the start based on how easy it had always been for her to raise his blood pressure.
Speak of the devil.
She spotted Draco, his silver hair easily recognizable from a distance. He was calm and collected, per usual. If he was nervous, he didn't show it.
Dahlia looked around the stadium, spotting a group of gorgeous, giggling fifth-years pointing to the Slytherin players on the pitch. It shook her ground. They appeared not only perfectly pretty and confident but carefree. Lately, she felt haggard and worn by what she had been through over the past months.
The girls laughed as they tossed their hair back. Their legs were extended to the benches before them, tanning in the sun for the upcoming ball. Dahlia wondered if she still appeared that way to others who didn't know better—that perfect. Or did all the girls secretly whisper that Draco or Theo could do better? Maybe the old Dahlia was in their league, not this new garbage fire of a lady.
Her stomach twisted, pondering if Theo had kissed any of them.
Taken them to his bed. He had called it mine,
"Amelia." Dahlia turned, unable to help herself. "Do you know-"
Her best friend shook her head fervently.
Amelia knew this was coming. Juliet groaned in anticipation.
"No. No, no, no. I'm not telling you," Amelia began to lecture, wagging her fingers like she meant serious business. "Dahlia Aldair, you are beautiful, funny, fearless, and crazy...smart—most of the time."
Amelia booped her nose while Juliet linked her arm through hers, pulling Dahlia closer. "You are the most perfect girl at Hogwarts," they assured.
Amelia leaned close, too. "I know how hard you can be on yourself. I won't have you comparing yourself to a girl he probably doesn't give a fuck about."
It didn't matter if she was made of endless starlight or was one of the rarest creatures in the world; she hadn't thought herself beautiful until the heavens had begun calling to her. She hadn't found herself truly pretty until the stars had begun weaving their beauty between her bones. But still, she compared herself to others on occasion, and she couldn't help but blame Theo and his indiscretions for some of her recent insecurities.
Amelia's words soured, and Dahlia snapped. "Does that make it better? If he'll just fuck anyone?" Her bitterness towards Theo's insatiability bled out through her tone.
"Keep your voice down," Juliet hushed, but Amelia cut through her weak deflection.
If he was so quickly able to be intimate with anyone, had he fooled himself into thinking he loved her so much? She wanted true peace for him— something more than fleeting moments of relief with just anyone who was around.
"It's equally shit, but you need to be fair," Amelia whispered. "You made the right choice. Breakups are tough and awkward, especially when your ex returns as a mentally ill criminal, but remember..." Amelia shrugged, then braced for the worst.
She alluded to her hasty tryst with Draco. It had taken nearly no time at all for her to fall into him, just a sanctuary where their problems felt too distant to snare them. They had always been a ticking bomb, a match that needed just enough friction and open air to catch fire. If she could only be sorry for one thing, it was that she couldn't give Theo the respect of holding out for a moment longer. Draco was her purpose—her beginning and end—and she only wished this path hadn't given Theo so much pain.
"Don't you want him to be happy?" Juliet murmured.
She wanted him to be happy, more than anything, but not with someone else. The idea that he could find any happiness without her was equally relieving and heartbreaking. He preferred to grieve without her, which was even more tragic. She was selfish and unfair—she knew that in her heart. Although Dahlia understood Juliet and Amelia were nudging her to see the situation for what it was, she couldn't yet admit that Theo was better off without her.
Dahlia shook her head, confirming with lukewarm enthusiasm that she wasn't ready for him to find happiness.
Amelia snorted, sensing her answer was the opposite of her feelings. "My little hothead."
Amelia leaned down and wrapped her arms around her shoulders, squeezing her tight. "He didn't mean to hurt you. I know with complete certainty that you are the only person in this whole school he would never try to hurt on purpose."
Dahlia nodded silently.
"Now look skyward," Amelia giggled, raising their spirits. "Malfoy's up there, closer to the stars. Finally, where he belongs."
—
Draco pushed back his silver hair, enjoying the silence that could only be found in the clouds. He hummed, merry enough, as he tightened his leather gloves. His goggles hung loose around his neck.
He sighed, checking his watch.
Fifteen minutes had passed. He would give it a few minutes longer. It wouldn't be fair to catch the snitch so early in a scrimmage. He leaned back, happy to feel the sun's reflection refracting against his skin as he hid on the outskirts of a creampuff cloud.
He spotted the other team's seeker below, bumbling around on his broom. He was either also killing time or incompetently slow. Regardless, he was too stupid to know that it was best to stay high, especially with the way Nott was handling bludgers today.
He kept a careful eye on Theo, who was engaging in his most unhinged behavior. Draco smirked to himself, pleased to know his pompous captain was so irked by his presence.
He shouldn't have antagonized Theo, but the poor soul could never understand what it was to love as he did Dahlia. She had held onto him extra tight last night. She had run her fingertips over his body like she was painting the night sky as she had guided him into her, slowly and lovely. The way his world shifted when she led him home like that—it was boundless, as if he could fall into every thread of time where they had found each other and embraced eternity. It was like searching for immortality with every moan he earned from her. And when she was finally done having her way with him, he counted every hair on her head while she slept, not wanting to waste a moment of having her safe in his arms. He watched her rest, well and far away from here, and prayed to anything out there that could bring her a better tomorrow.
Theo threatened that, hellbent on having any hope.
Draco couldn't stand it; the thought of him with her. He was crude and vulgar, even when smiling or simply changing his clothes. He couldn't imagine Dahlia in love with him, letting him touch her and liking it. It was like imagining a precious figurine pulverized in the palm of his hand. To think he had told her to put an end to Theo's plans at whatever cost was testing his own limits. But she was the only one who could beat him at his game because she was as much his prize as she was his weakness. He just had to trust that she wouldn't take it too far. Regardless, he didn't want to know.
Fuck.
Draco sat forward, spotting the Hufflepuff seeker racing after what could only be the snitch.
Fuck.
He quickly got himself together, fumbling for his goggles. He turned wide, cutting through the cloud with sharp precision before plunging towards the pitch. He angled himself just out of sight, riding directly in the light of the sun. He evened out, pulling forward on the handle. He slowed to a fast but controllable pace as he positioned himself to dive dirty just behind the other seeker.
Draco squinted one eye, raising a gloved hand to use the ray of the sun to confirm his calculations. Once confident, Draco wasted no time. He pushed forward like ripping a throttle, descending rapidly. He was nearly vertical to the ground. He held his breath, afraid even an exhale would slow him down.
He furiously searched the sky for the speck of gold. No luck yet, but he was soaring, acutely aware of the beat of his heart. He was alive, living vividly and outrunning the tick of a clock.
Finally, he pulled back and shot forward. He grazed the Hufflepuff seeker, who veered left to avoid a collision. Draco looked back to find him spinning out, and when he looked forward, he saw it.
The snitch.
It was right in front of him. He reached out for it, testing the limits of his ligaments. It was a touch away. A gust of a tailwind was all he needed as he forced himself forward. Faster.
Sensing the warmth of his skin, the snitch spiraled skyward.
"Fuck!"
With renewed fury, Draco soared upwards after it. He would crush this snitch in his palm, crack it in two. He followed it relentlessly, losing sight of the only thing more important than the snitch.
Draco's vision went black. His ears rang to his confusion. Disoriented, he fumbled for anything other than air. He tried to gasp, but the wind had left his lungs.
One thing was certain— he was falling. It was exhilarating and horrifying, like grazing paradise on the way to the damned. There was nothing but blues in the sky, heaven just beyond the bend.
He wasn't sure if the crowd was roaring or if it was the howl of the wind in his ears.
Fuck, he realized, eyes now wide. He finally breathed, wheezing for life.
He was fucking free-falling.
He searched the sky feverishly for his broom, but it wasn't his that he spotted. It was Theo's broom. It hurtled next to him in bits and broken pieces.
Out of time, Draco braced for the worst: that bone-crushing impact.
But a choking magic quickly blanketed him, heavy and warm. He saw a flash of red as he hit the wet grass of the field.
Numb, he groaned. Draco opened his eyes, only to find a chunk of wood hurtling towards him. He dodged it as he rolled onto his knees and sat up, narrowly avoiding the pathetic death of being impaled by Theo's broom.
He would have to try harder than that to kill him.
Shaking off the dizziness, Draco went cold with fury as he heard a familiar whine.
He didn't remember getting up or striding over with broken bones, only remembered the satisfaction of kicking Theo in the gut as he fought to find air, having fallen to the pitch, too.
Draco bent down on one knee, tugging on the collar of Theo's shirt. "What the fuck is wrong with you!" He spat, pulling him forward by his shirt and slamming him back down.
Theo laughed, mouth painted crimson from missing teeth. His eyes shifted from delirium to true hatred as Draco leaned forward, pushing his weight into the knuckles on his neck.
Theo spat blood as if he were anointing him for death. Draco didn't flinch at the tainted skin. Instead, he threw his weight into his fist, landing a blow on Theo's cheek. He counted his grievances in a blind rage, heaving down for each and every one.
For leaving.
For coming back.
For disappointing her.
For disappointing me—your real family.
For Emma.
For never giving up.
Theo laughed as his nose cracked. He smiled as if riding a high—dying.
"Tell me," Theo breathed, coughing on blood. Draco hated it. He hated that he had shared the same breath as Dahlia, so he cracked another blow.
But it didn't land. Theo crushed Draco's wrist as he caught a second wind. "How do I taste?"
Draco stopped breathing, too fucking angry for it.
They came to a stand in a blur of fists and blood. Theo shoved Draco's shoulders, stumbling forward as a crowd hurried across the pitch to intervene.
"You're nothing!" Draco's tone was lethal, jagged like a knife. "You're nothing to her!"
Then, Draco bit down on the truth that only adrenal clarity could provide. "She begged you! And you left her!"
Something snapped in Theo's eyes, and he stilled in disbelief. Finally, he roared. "You made me! You told me in the forest that I should go!" It echoed with accusation— that Draco had known how the cards would play out.
"I could never..."
Draco shook his head. The way he loved her now, he couldn't imagine it.
"I would never leave—"
Theo turned away from him, permanently unable to see things as they were. He ran a manic hand through his hair, chuckling spitefully. He shook his head as he began to tremble from bottled fury.
He turned back, bellowing from the pit in his stomach. "But you'll fuck her not even a week later? Take the only thing that was mine? Take advantage of her grief like that?" Theo's voice quivered with betrayal, a pleading to have just this one thing. It was as if he thought his losses in life excused the abuse—gave him a right to her.
Draco looked up at the blue skies, pondering how they had gotten here. They had everything—money, influence, his parents who loved them both, damn good friends, and each other.
Draco hung his head, ruefully smiling because all roads would inevitably lead here—to her.
He raised his hands in the air as the professors closed in, yet he looked to Theo with a final forbearance. The strife on Theo's slackened, blood-stained features was enough to grant him mercy, but they were only alike in their unforgiving nature.
"I'm not sorry," Draco murmured.
Then, the blue morning skies turned black.