Warning: Rated M for explicit language, violence, and sexual content. This story is Canon Divergent and contains both het and slash pairings. For further disclaimers and warnings, make sure to read my profile. [Updated September 2017]

Beta Love: LadyParongsny, ambriabeal, azuthlu

A/N: A few months ago, I came across a post on tumblr with the premise: what if, when you drew something on your skin, it appeared on your soulmates skin wherever they were? I loved the idea and I took it a step further, wondering how scars would be involved. This, in addition to inspiration from several "soul mark" fics like White Line, and The Triangle by Colubrina, and the Running With Scissors series by provocative envy led me to this idea of a Drabble series (that took on a mind of it's own).

I'm using this series to celebrate my birthday (May 21st) so I will be posting one chapter every day for 21 days. A BIG thanks to my followers on tumblr and the awesome people in Wandlore who helped narrow down the various pairings. Each chapter will feature a new pairing, all that exist in the same universe. The chapters jump through time, so you'll see the progression of some pairings in the chapters featuring others. Also, this universe is a mostly canon universe, so please keep that in mind when people die and your hearts break. And break they will. I'm a horrible, evil person and apparently what I want most for my birthday is tears: happy AND sad.


November 1981

Minerva stared at the curiously shaped cut on the boy's forehead. "Is that where—?"

"Yes," Dumbledore replied. "He'll have that scar forever."

"Couldn't you do something about it, Albus?"

"Even if I could, I wouldn't. Scars can come in handy."

And even magic had limitations.

Hyperion Greengrass stepped out of the fireplace in the drawing room of his ancestral manor outside of Sussex. It had not been a good few days, as much as the rest of the Wizarding world was celebrating in the streets. Hyperion had spent that time locked in a small interrogation room being questioned by Aurors about his association with people like Lucius Malfoy, Severus Snape, and the Lestrange brothers.

"Clients," he'd told them all. It had been the truth regardless of whether or not he was keeping his dark little secret about how he'd almost—very nearly—joined their little club; worshippers of You-Know-Who. He'd not been a blood supremacy fanatic like his father had been, but it made sense to be on the winning side of a war despite one's personal thoughts on the matter, didn't it? Thankfully, he'd been on the fence this time, which landed him in a room filled with Aurors instead of a cell in Azkaban filled with dementors.

"Where have you been?!"

Hyperion turned and had the breath knocked out of him when his young wife jumped into his arms, crushing herself against his chest. He sighed and breathed in her sweet scent, holding her close. "I'm so sorry, love. The Ministry had—"

"You-Know-Who is gone, I know, I read the Prophet! I thought they'd taken you to Azkaban!" Laurel yelled at him, her eyes red and puffy from days of crying, terrified that her husband had been arrested and thrown in Azkaban with the Death Eaters. "We have a problem."

He frowned and pressed his palms against his eyes, rubbing hard enough to see spots. "A problem worse than being suspected of associating with known Death Eaters?" he asked, his voice heavy with stress and the missing hours of sleep. "If they call me back in, I'll follow Malfoy's lead and say that I was Imperiused. It's worked quite well for the man and his thugs."

Laurel shook her head. "It's Daphne."

Hyperion looked up, his attention officially caught. "What's wrong with her? What happened? Did someone—?"

Laurel took his hand and dragged him up the stairs to their daughter's room where she was peacefully sleeping. There, in the bed was their little witch. Alabaster skin and eyes as blue as the sea with long, dark lashes that didn't quite match the light, golden colour of her hair. Hiding beneath a thick, blond curl, Hyperion saw it.

"Oh no . . ."

"It won't come off permanently; I've tried every spell I know," Laurel whispered so as not to wake the baby, brushing her fingers over the lightning-shaped mark on her daughter's forehead. "The best I can do is charm it away, but if I end the spell, it comes right back. Whoever he or she is, it must have been Dark Magic. Do you think—"

Hyperion swallowed remembering the myriad of rumours already circulating in the Ministry that he'd been able to overhear during his temporary detainment. "I know who it is."

Laurel turned, eyes wide. "Y-You know? How? It sometimes takes years, if ever, for a witch or wizard to find their—"

"We have to hide her. No one can ever see that mark."


Hyperion touched the tip of his wand against his daughter's forehead, temporarily vanishing the scar. "Because that's what Dumbledore is doing with her soulmate."

September 1991

"Pardon us." Laurel rushed along the side of the Hogwarts Express, stopping only to turn back when her eight-year-old daughter accidentally ran into a little red-headed girl. "I'm so terribly sorry." She smiled up at the girl's mother—a Weasley if she spotted the looks accurately. "We're a bit in a rush."

The woman only smiled. "I know the feeling, dear. I'm sending my sixth child away today; you'd think I'd be used to it by now."

Laurel almost cried. "My first girl is going. She's eleven."

"Oh dear, it gets easier, I promise you."

Twin red-headed boys approached the woman with bright grins on their faces. "Hey, Mum, guess what? Guess who we just met on the train? You know that black-haired boy who was near us in the station? Know who he is?"

The ginger witch gave Laurel a look of apology for the rude interruption. She sighed irritably and turned to her twins, putting hands on her hips. "Who?"

"Harry Potter!"

Laurel gasped and felt her heart skip several beats. Panicked, she turned and saw Daphne, hand wrapped tightly around Hyperion's arm, staring at the Weasley family, blue eyes wide in shock and fear. Hyperion squeezed Daphne's hand, and Laurel watched as her daughter schooled her expression back to one of neutrality.

"Oh, Mum, can I go on the train and see him, Mum, oh please!" the little red-headed girl begged.

"You've already seen him, Ginny, and the poor boy isn't something you goggle at in a zoo. Is he really, Fred? How do you know?"

"Asked him. Saw his scar. It's really there—like lightning."

Laurel subtly shook her head when she saw Daphne instinctively reach up to touch the hidden scar on her own forehead, kept out of sight with the strongest Glamour Charms she and Hyperion could come up with, in addition to the thick fringe that Laurel was none too pleased with. She'd spent the last two weeks before the first of September teaching Daphne how to comb her hair just so, so that the scar was completely hidden even without a charm. Just in case, she'd been sent with a plethora of accessories to cover it up until Daphne was skilled enough to hide the mark on her own.

Gods, if it hadn't been Dark Magic, it would have been so much easier. Laurel had a brief moment of sympathy for the boy that bore the original, especially when the Weasley woman said, "Poor dear. No wonder he was alone; I wondered. He was ever so polite when he asked how to get onto the platform."

"Off we go," Laurel said, clearing her throat and tugging on Astoria's hand so they could join Hyperion in wishing Daphne safe travels.

June 1995

"What do you suppose is happening?" Pansy asked, clinging to Daphne's arm tightly as she stared at the large hedge maze in front of them. Viktor Krum and the French girl had both been retrieved, but Diggory and Potter were missing and had been for a while now. Dumbledore and Professor Moody were pacing around the hedge, and the other professors were gathered together and whispering in a group.

"I think something went wrong," Daphne whispered, a tense coil in her stomach twisting nervously. She let out a small sigh of relief when Theo took her hand and squeezed it in understanding. She turned and made eye contact with her best friend, the only other person besides her parents and sister who knew her secret.

"Potter probably ran off with the trophy," Draco mumbled bitterly, arms folded across his chest. He'd sat behind her for most of the Third Task, tapping his toe and shaking his leg; the movement was vibrating the seats. She was quickly losing her patience with him.

"If he doesn't shut it—" she began, but Theo's chuckle stopped her mid-threat.

He leant in close and whispered, "You'd think that he was Potter's soulmate."

Daphne blushed and shook her head, laughing softly under her breath.

"Umm . . . Daphne?" Theo quietly addressed her, making sure the rest of their Housemates were distracted by the commotion on the pitch. He gestured to her arm, and she stifled a gasp when she saw a long, thick scar appear on the flesh of her forearm. She tugged down the sleeve of her robes and turned her attention back to the hedge maze, blue eyes wide with fear as she joined the search for Cedric Diggory and Harry Potter from the stands.

September 1995

"Are you all right, Daph?" Astoria asked worriedly, staring at her sister from across the sofa in the common room.

Daphne had O.W.L.s to think about and prepare for, but she was clearly distracted, scratching obsessively at her hand which was now all red. "I'm fine," she muttered angrily, her pulse racing the same way it had been every night that week. The charms weren't working because the wound was being continually inflicted, reopened every few moments over and over and over again. It lasted hours and then, the following night, it would resume once more.

Astoria tried to take a peek at Daphne's hand. "I must not tell lies?"

Daphne shot a withering look at her sister. "Mind your business. Finish your essay."

July 1996

"It's not like they're soulmates, y'know," Ginny said bitterly as she stomped up the stairs of the Burrow, nearly running headlong into Harry and Ron. "Sorry."

"Fleur?" Harry asked.

Ginny nodded. "She's driving me mental!" she screamed before ducking into the room that she was sharing with Hermione. Harry caught a brief glimpse of his best friend looking perturbed at having her revising interrupted, and he tried to throw her a sympathetic smile before Ginny shut the door.

"Witches," Ron said incredulously, shaking his head.

Harry laughed. "What was that about soulmates?"

Ron blinked in confusion, caught off guard by the question. "What? Er . . . Oh . . . Sometimes I forget that . . . y'know . . . you were raised by Muggles. It's usually something that your family teaches you. A lot of the old pureblood families think it's pretty sacred, so it's not taught in school. Dad told me that some people tried to petition a class on traditions and such, but prats like Malfoy and his ilk threw a fit about it. So, every witch or wizard has a soulmate. You find 'em through scars and writing and other stuff."

Harry stared at his friend, confused. "What? What do you mean scars?"

Ron chuckled. "Well, you kind of . . . All right, so I don't know how magic makes it work, but when you've got a soulmate, let's say you draw something on your arm, right? It'll appear on theirs. Anything that happens to your skin, actually, like scars. Mum calls 'em soul scars. Only they vanish if they aren't yours after a while. Depends on what kind of mark it is, if magic is used, how fast it heals. I had one show up on my thumb last summer, but it vanished in few minutes. If the wound gets healed, it'll disappear, or you can do it yourself with a simple charm. Unless it's Dark Magic, of course."

Harry instinctively touched his forehead. "You mean . . ."

Ron frowned. "Wow. Didn't ever think about it. I guess whoever they are . . . Yeah, they'd have it."

Harry looked down, horrified. "You say if you write something, it'll show up?"

"Yeah, kinda like 'Mione's charmed Galleons. Put something on one and it shows up on the other. Fred and George are trying to do something like it with twin notebooks. Probably to try and cheat on exams," Ron said with a laugh. "They'd make a killing selling them to fifth and seventh years."

Minutes later, the boys were in Ron's room, rummaging through Harry's Hogwarts trunk for a quill and ink. Eventually, Harry grabbed the quill in hand and nervously wrote on the back of his left hand, just above the faint scar that read: I must not tell lies.


They waited several minutes, but nothing happened.

"Try something else," Ron encouraged.

Harry grimaced and began writing once more.

I'm sorry if you have to share my scars.

A few minutes later, Harry gasped when words appeared on his skin.

I was sorry to hear about your godfather.

May 1998

It was over.

It was over, and Harry was alive; as were most of his friends. They were mourning those that had died, but somehow, they'd won. He'd won. He watched as friends and family grieved over lost loved ones, but every so often, something would catch his eye: a witch or wizard looking lost and scared as they steadily examined a scar on their body from where a curse had struck them. No, not them, their soulmate.

Soul scars.

His mouth fell open in shock. He hadn't even thought about the person who'd only written back on their hand from time to time over the last two years. While Hermione and Ron slept in the tent on the run, Harry would take time every few weeks to write Are you all right? on his skin, shocked with how relieved he was when they'd reply in the affirmative, usually adding in something encouraging like, Stay strong, Harry.

Despite their short-lived relationship, this person—his soulmate—hadn't been Ginny. He knew for certain because the same day that Dumbledore had died, a message appeared on his skin, asking if he was alive. Ginny had been right by his side in the hospital wing when the words showed up.

Harry watched closely as everyone in the Great Hall began treating the wounded and moving the dead. Feeling useless, he turned a corner once out of the Great Hall. He found a quill in an empty classroom off a west corridor on the way to Gryffindor Tower and quickly scribbled on his skin.

Are you all right?

He waited, holding his breath, for a response that came minutes later.

You're alive!

Harry smiled and then laughed, jubilant that whoever his soulmate was, they'd made it through this damned war. He let out a loud whoop in victory and then quickly scribbled on his arm since it had more room.

It's over. Voldemort's dead. Where are you? I want to see you.

Their reply took much longer this time, and Harry bit his lip nervously while he waited. Maybe they didn't want him. They knew who he was, who couldn't with the famous scar they apparently shared. What if . . . what if it was too much? What if they didn't want anything romantic? Hermione had mentioned once that some soulmates were platonic friendships, non-romantic partnerships; sometimes they were even enemies. Soulmates only meant that magic had connected them. It didn't guarantee a happy ending.

Harry felt a cold chill run down his spine when his soulmate finally replied.

I'm in the dungeons with the others.

"Slytherin," he whispered in shock, but still took off toward the dungeons as quick as his tired feet could carry him. The castle was damaged and would need repairs, but the foundation had held. At the end of a long corridor, he made it to the blank wall where he knew the entrance to the Slytherin common room to be.

"Pureblood," he said, growling when it didn't open. "Umm . . . Salazar. Voldemort. Dark Lord. I don't know!" he shouted desperately, angry at himself for standing idly by when the Slytherins had been taken away before the battle truly had begun. He should have said something. He should have stopped it. They didn't deserve to be tucked away, unable to even defend themselves.

"Please, just . . . just open," he whispered. "Alohomora."

A door formed and swung open revealing the gathered Slytherins on the other side, mostly young children or teenagers his own age, looking terrified. He frowned at the fear on their faces, spotting a stern-looking Pansy Parkinson near the back staunchly refusing to make eye contact with him.

"Where are you?" he called out.

They all looked around, confused.

That is until Theo Nott stepped forward, his hand around the small arm of a pale, blonde. "Let her through!" the pureblood snapped, giving the witch a bit of a shove through the quickly parting crowd.

She stumbled forward and righted herself immediately, pushing back long, golden hair behind her ears. Blue eyes met green, and Harry's mouth opened, shocked by the sight of her. He knew her. Greengrass. Daphne, he thought her name was. Not knowing what to say, both stood awkwardly, toeing the floor while the Slytherins looked on with interest.

"Is it over?" Pansy Parkinson asked testily. "Can we go now, or should we wait for Aurors to come arrest us?"

Harry blinked, turning his gaze away from Daphne for a moment. "Er . . . yes. You're free to go."

They filed out of the common room one by one, leaving Harry and Daphne standing face-to-face in the doorway. Eventually, Daphne cleared her throat. "You're not . . . you're not still dating Weasley, are you?" she asked, unable to hide the anxiety in her gaze and the distaste in her tone.

Harry barked a laugh. "No. No, Ginny and I split a year ago."

Daphne smirked, back to looking ever the confident pureblood princess that she was, as though she weren't standing in the opening of what had recently been her prison cell. Harry watched in awe as she ran a hand through her fringe, pushing the blond hair aside. In a small flutter of wandless magic, the matching lightning bolt appeared on her skin.

He swallowed hard at the sight of it and actually found himself grinning. "It looks better on you."

She smiled. "Oh, this old thing?" she said teasingly before shrugging her delicate shoulders. "I've had it since forever."