A/N: I started my fic Hey, Soul Sister almost exactly a year ago, and now that my friend and I are working on it heavily, we've been trying to find a way to incorporate Draco into this splinter universe. The fic will have another sequel on my page eventually, but this is one interpretation of how things could go when soulmate marks show up without permission and don't care who they connect. We're new to the Dramione fleet, so we'd love to hear what you think as it goes. (We do not own the title, it's from the Train song. Trying to keep the theme going.) x

Chapter One

Soulmates. I will never understand.

Draco sought to keep his expression blank as he watched his parents from the doorway of his father's study. They were muttering to one another, and he couldn't hear what either was saying, but he could see the smiles on their lips and the kisses each pressed to the other's cheek or neck now and then between quiet laughs. He'd been around the parents of his friends enough to know that this behavior was far more common among those who had been matched with a soulmate than those who had married for other reasons, whether those were related to money, power, or something else entirely.

He'd been told since birth that his parents had been fortunate enough to find a kind of love that transcended the typical and touched instead on a very ancient kind of magic connecting them at the soul level. He'd also been assured that he would one day find someone with whom he connected so strongly, so passionately, that he couldn't continue to go on alone.

And yet, here we are.

Draco cleared his throat, folding his arms over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe. His parents immediately pulled apart, Narcissa sliding off the arm of Lucius's chair and smoothing her skirt into alignment as she glanced down at the floor. Her long blond hair obscured her face partially, but it didn't entirely conceal the blush that had spread like wildfire over her pale skin. Lucius's shift in position was more subtle; he straightened his posture and leaned back in his chair as he reached for the glass of amber liquid sitting on the desk in front of him.

"Yes, Draco?" he asked, glancing up at his son as he took a drink from the glass.

"Are we going to leave?"

Draco fought to keep any traces of agitation from his voice. He knew rationally that he couldn't be irritated with his parents for being happy, but at the same time, he wished they would refrain from showing it when he could potentially enter the room. They'd always been highly reserved about demonstrations of affection when in public or when hosting company, but Draco had caught them in a number of compromising situations when they must've believed he wouldn't be wandering about Malfoy Manor.

"Yes, as soon as you're ready," said his father with a nod.

"Have been for about an hour."

"I'll go and get our cloaks," said Narcissa, giving her husband's shoulder a squeeze before making her way out from behind the desk and toward the doorway. She smiled at Draco as she passed, though he could see the blush hadn't yet left her cheeks. She'd always seemed highly embarrassed when Draco had happened to witness more intimate moments between her and Lucius, and Draco wondered why each of his parents handled the situation so differently, though he didn't plan to ask.

When his mother had gone, he looked to his father once again.

"Are you prepared for this term?" asked Lucius.

"More so than the last."

Lucius glanced at the glass in his hand. Draco knew his father was likely recalling the disastrous way the previous year at Hogwarts had concluded—after all, who could forget the resurrection of the Dark Lord? Even though he hadn't been there, Draco had heard enough about the matter over the summer that he felt as though he had. He'd known something was wrong since before his fourth year at the school, though he hadn't been sure what it was, at first.

"We have to go home, Draco. Please don't argue and don't ask questions."

Draco let out a frustrated sigh, trying hard to resist the urge to pull his hand out of his mother's grasp as she led him through the magically-expanded tent they'd been invited to share with Minister Fudge's family for the duration of the Quidditch World Cup. Draco glanced at the lavish golden carpets and plush, white velvet couches and mentally cursed whatever had deigned to cut his vacation short. Yes, his home was still more extravagant than Fudge's tent, but he'd been immensely proud to be invited along to share in the rewards the Minister had decided to bestow upon Lucius for his consistent financial support.

"Now?" Draco pressed. "But the World Cup isn't even—"

"Please." Narcissa turned on her heel to face Draco, her blue eyes wide and ringed with dark circles. "Please don't make this harder than it already is."

"But what about Father?"

Narcissa frowned, a flicker of pain passing over her face, which seemed considerably paler and more drawn than usual.

"He'll meet us at home," she muttered, turning away and beginning to pull Draco along once more.

When the Dark Mark had appeared on the front page of The Daily Prophet after being emblazoned in the sky at the Quidditch World Cup, Draco had demanded an explanation.

"Draco… you have to understand." Lucius closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. He drew in a long breath and let it out again, and Draco couldn't help but notice that his father's shoulders were slumped and his white-blond hair somewhat disheveled. Draco wondered whether his father had slept at all after returning home. "I never thought this would become a problem again. I thought he was finished—dead."

"And he's… not?"

"The fact that this has returned—" Lucius glanced down to the black image etched into his forearm, and Draco's stomach lurched. "—suggests that he's alive. Everyone whose Mark returned panicked, and things got out of hand. If I'd known there was even a possibility that the Mark would come back, I would've told you everything sooner."

"What does he want from you?" Draco asked tentatively, uncertain that he truly wanted the answer.

"When one agrees to serve the Dark Lord, it's a lifetime commitment."

Draco had hoped that commitment would never be called upon; perhaps something else had led the Dark Mark to reappear and his father's master had not been resurrected. When the Triwizard Tournament had ended with Cedric Diggory's death, however, Draco hadn't been able to deny that the Dark Lord had returned. Potter had made certain to tell the world, and even if he hadn't, Lucius had been summoned to the graveyard and witnessed the man's return himself.

"Do you know what he's planning?" Draco asked now, watching his father, who had reached out to pour another glass of whatever he'd been drinking.

"It isn't worth worrying yourself over." Lucius shook his head.

"That's not an answer, Father."

"I'll tell you when you need to know," said Lucius. He took a long drink from the glass and then set it on the desk, pushing himself to his feet. "For now, just try not to think about it, all right?"

Draco sighed quietly and nodded, wishing his father understood that such a request was much easier made than fulfilled.

"We'd best be off."

Draco turned toward the voice of his mother, who had returned and stood just outside the study in the corridor, a mass of material draped over her arm and dwarfing her thin frame. She adjusted the bundle of cloth she carried and pulled free a black traveling cloak Draco recognized as his own. He took it with a muttered thanks and fastened it around his neck. He then stepped aside as his father reached them, and he glanced around the study, committing it more firmly to memory as he waited for his parents to put on their cloaks. He glanced over the leather-bound books lining the shelves—the same ones he'd been persuading his father to let him borrow since he'd been a small child—and the nearly-invisible spot on the corner of the rug partially-concealed by an armchair where he'd once spilled a glass of pumpkin juice and failed to remove it completely with magic. He looked to the north wall and the portrait that had been commissioned long before his birth of Malfoy Manor and its grounds, and he watched as tiny renditions of white peacocks scuttled about among the foliage.

Draco wasn't particularly excited about leaving his home behind for the uncertainty of another year filled with classes and people he didn't care to see, but he told himself he would make this year better than the last. After all, he was going to be a Prefect, just like both of his parents, and he was immensely proud to have been chosen for the position, even if he was somewhat anxious that he wouldn't impress them with his efforts.

Relax, he ordered himself. It's going to be fine, so just relax.

"Did you hear me?"

Draco blinked, turning to face his parents, who both now stood in the corridor beyond the study, watching him closely.

"No, Father."

"I asked if you're ready to leave," said Lucius, glancing down the hallway toward the foyer, where Draco had left his school trunk.

"Yes," said Draco, nodding and squaring his shoulders. Ready as I'll ever be.