Hey everyone! Hope you're all staying safe during this trying time. Sending my love to you all :)

Note: This chapter gets like, really M rated at the end. Skip if it's not your thing.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter


"For the love of Merlin, Hermione, you can't sleep here every single night."

Hermione lifted her head from an early edition of Blood and Magic: Properties in Myths and Legends and glanced over to look at the library door, where a very irritated Fred was standing.

The sky outside the window was a soft twilight. Last time she had looked, it had been midday. She blinked. Was it now early evening? Morning?

"What time is it?" she asked Fred, looking around, searching for a clue.

He sighed, walking in and taking a seat across from her. He glanced at the piles of book on the table. She had been going through every book she could find in the library relating to magical bonds and blood.

"It's seven in the morning."

She had slept here the whole night. The crick in her neck she could feel building with every moment was proof of that.

"I must've just passed out," she murmured, running a hand through her tangled hair. When was the last time she had had a shower? "I wasn't paying attention."

"Have you had anything to eat?" Fred asked.

She shook her head.

He sighed. "I mean, I'm not surprised that your body is going to expire surrounded by mountains of books, but I'm not exactly pleased."

He ran a finger down the spine of a book she had tossed across the table in frustration a day prior. "Veelas and Their Mates: Romantic Bonding in Magical Creatures," he read aloud before chuckling. "Five galleons I know what you're trying to figure out."

She glared. "If you woke up one day and discovered that your stupid blood heritage had mated you indefinitely to Draco Malfoy, five galleons you'd be in the library all night as well."

"Touché," he nodded, fighting to hold back the grin on his face. "Any luck with your…er…unusual situation?"

She shook her head and sighed, exasperated. "I've tried everything. I thought Veelas would be a good place to start because they're the most commonly mated magical creatures."

"You do realize that your magic tattoo doesn't decrease your humanness by ten percent, right?"

"But," she continued, ignoring Fred's sarcasm. "Breaking a Veela bond is impossible. There's never been a single recorded case, and the cases where Veelas tried always end badly."

"How badly?" Fred asked.

"Murder/suicide level badly," she responded, shivering as she remembered some of the horror stories she had read. Veelas who had tried killing their mates to escape the bond, but who had been so wracked with guilt and grief that they had ended their own lives days later.

"I mean, I'm not thoroughly opposed to the murder part," Fred said, pursing his lips in feigned thought. "And I mean, if I do it, no reason for it to bother you."

Even though she rationally knew that Fred was joking, the thought of him killing Draco sent anger through her veins. She felt her fingertips start to tingle as magic rushed down them, preparing to shoot down the threat.

Fred must've seen the reaction on her face. He laughed uneasily, nervously eyeing her wand on the table. "I'm just kidding, Hermione. You look like you're about to curse me from here to Poland."

She snapped herself out of it, forcing her hands down on her thighs, grounding them.

"Sorry," she muttered. "I don't know how to control my magic, or my reactions when it comes to him."

Fred shrugged. "Nah, don't worry about it. Your protectiveness is one of the things we love so much about you."

"This isn't protectiveness," she murmured, more to herself than Fred. "This is something else…infatuation, maybe? Magical torture?"

He chuckled. "Seems sadistic that your bloodline decided the best possible mate for you, of every fucking man you know, is the one that bullied you for years, and is also a total prat."

"This is my fate," she said.

"Or maybe your bloodline has a fetish for pale blondes," Fred shrugged. "If these past two months have taught me anything, anything is possible, especially when it comes to you, Miss Hermione Granger."

"Le Fay," she answered automatically, before clapping her hand over her mouth. Fred eyed her curiously for a moment, as she shook her head. "Sorry, that just came out."

"Well, it is your name."

"No, it's not," she said. "It may be my goddamn heritage, bloodline, burden, whatever you want to call it, but my name is Granger. Perfectly normal, muggle, Granger."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "Still not on board with being a pureblooded princess?"

She scoffed. "Did you seriously just say that?"

"What?" he shrugged. "Look, Hermione, I love you as much as the next guy, but also not as much as some of the guys here at Number 12 Grimmauld Place apparently do…"

She scoffed again.

"Look," Fred continued, a grin threatening to burst out onto his faux-sombre expression. "My family are some of the biggest blood traitors there are, even if we are Sacred Twenty-Eight, but what you are, Merlin, it's above all of us. You're descended from Morganna Le Fay, that's the trump card over any pureblooded claim to magical supremacy that could get thrown at you…" he trailed off as he noticed her expression.

"Hermione?" he pressed on, eyeing her white face. "You okay? Have an epiphany or something?"

She gaped. "I just realized…"

"Realized what?"

She groaned. "How on Earth am I going to explain this to Ron?"

The grin finally won the battle against seriousness. "Which part? That you are actually the last remaining witch in the Le Fay bloodline? Or that you've been shacking up with Draco Malfoy and are now magically bonded to him for all eternity?"

She groaned again and let her face fall into her hands. "He's going to bloody kill me."

"Nah, you'll be fine," Fred laughed. "But your secret lover might be heading to the gallows fairly soon."

"One day, I'm going to jinx Seamus and then also Lucius Malfoy for exposing that to you all," she muttered, blushing a vibrant shade of crimson.

"What? That you let the Slytherin Prince plunder your Chamber of Secrets?"

She gasped before swatting at Fred. He dodged easily.

"Christ Fred, you don't need to be so crass!"

He doubled over laughing. "Sorry, was that too much? How's passionately made love to you on a levitating bed powered by your Lifetime Magic Bond?"

She nearly growled. "With everything going on right now, is this seriously the moment to take the piss out of me for sleeping with Draco?"

He shrugged. "I've got to get my kicks wherever possible. We're in a war, remember?"

She sighed, knowing that he'd tease her for a few more days before letting it drop. "Regardless, Ron and Harry are going to come back, see what a mess I've made and promptly curse me to bits."

"This whole thing isn't your fault, Hermione," he said. "But, I see your point. My brother is not exactly famed for his rationality and listening skills."

"I wonder when they're going to come back," she thought aloud, voicing something that had been nagging at her for a while.

"When was the last time you heard from them?" Fred asked.

"A few weeks ago," she answered. "Before."

There was only before and after now.

"That's not that long," Fred said. "Who knows, they could be anywhere, doing anything, trying to complete the great mystery task that, I'm not sure if I've mentioned, I would love to know more about."

She chuckled, shaking her head. "Not a chance. But you're right about everything else. And also, if anything happened to them, we'd be the first to know."

"True," he replied. "Don't you worry, 'Mione. They'll be back sooner than you think to absolutely destroy you with words for taking on a snake as an 'Other'."

Losing it a bit, she picked up the book she'd been reading and chucked it at him. He dodged it.

"It wasn't a conscious choice, okay?" she nearly shouted, before slumping back in the chair.

Fred was openly laughing now.

"Sorry," she apologized again. "I'm just as frustrated about the whole thing as I'm sure you lot are."

"I don't care who you sleep with, Hermione, though I wish your subconscious had better taste than a murderous double turncoat."

"Me too," she muttered.

"But, I have been thinking," Fred said, before hesitating a moment. "Magical bonds are a deep, intrinsic connection. It's like… it's as if your magic itself is picking its best possible choice. They aren't usually between two enemies, unless there's something more there."

"Oh, I know," she said, as Fred's words matched up with what she had been reading for the past few days. "As much as I was hoping that maybe my tattoo picked Draco because it wants me to suffer, I know that's not true."

"Sucks when your magical heritage has ulterior motives," Fred said.

"Draco is a talented wizard," Hermione conceded. "And he's apparently supposed to help protect me, the line, whatever, so maybe that's why?"

Fred shook his head. "If it was about who the most powerful wizard was, then you and Kingsley would already be planning a June wedding."

She couldn't help the giggle that escaped her mouth at the image of her walking down the aisle to meet the serious Auror.

"As romantic as that sounds," she continued, shaking her head and chuckling. "I can't help thinking that it chose Draco because… of something else."

"I know that face," Fred said, pointing dramatically at her. "That's the Hermione Has A Theory face."

"You're a real prat, you know that, right?"

He shrugged. "I'm not currently the reigning champion in this house for that title, though."

She couldn't argue with him there.

"So, what is it?" Fred asked, leaning forward in anticipation. "Crack the case."

"I keep thinking about something Malfoy said," she muttered, thinking back to the showdown at the Manor. "The older one. Lucius."

"He said a lot of shit, so that doesn't surprise me."

"He said that as a Le Fay, I needed to be revered," Hermione mused. "And that all of you treated me as if I were breakable, or fragile, or dangerous, or all of the above. But, that Draco… Draco met me where I was. He never treated me like an equal, he knew that we were not. He… he revered me."

"Hermione," Fred said, his voice serious for once. "You can't let Lucius Malfoy, of all evil parasites, get inside your head."

"He was right, though," Hermione said, quietly. "You all did act like that. I'm not mad, and I know you did it out of caution and love. But, you did treat me like I was… somehow alien. Somehow…wrong. Like I was this massive problem that needed to be solved. And Draco… didn't. He treated me like I was the solution."

"You've got to remember that he was trying to get you to join his side," Fred pointed out. "He was acting."

She shook her head and Fred scoffed. "Oh, come on, 'Mione. You cannot be this naïve."

"I'm not naïve," Hermione said, coldly. "I'm not daft enough to think that Draco Malfoy came here on that mission, but the second he saw me he changed all his opinions. But, I can't wrap my mind around the idea that it was all fake. Every second, every word, every touch…" she trailed off, as Fred's expression grew even more incredulous.

"I'm not trying to forgive or negate everything he did," Hermione continued, voice quiet. "But I'm stuck on what Lucius said, about him revering me, because he did. Especially in the time we spent together…"

"I do not desperately need a play-by-play on that one, Hermione."

"And you're not getting one," she said. "But, I'm just saying, I think that there's acting, and deception, and I think Draco has become very familiar with both as of late. But there are some things that can't be faked. And one of those things was the look in his eyes when he kissed me."

Fred paused. She could see his face switching between expressions of annoyance, disgust, incredulity, before landing on realization.

"You're still calling him Draco."

"Hm?" Hermione asked, confused. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," Fred continued. "You and me and everyone under the sun that we like has been calling Draco Malfoy by his last name since you lot showed up to Hogwarts at age eleven. You only stopped when you two started…is hanging out the right word?"

She understood now. "And I haven't switched back. I'm still calling him Draco."

Fred nodded. "Seems like your subconscious is not quite the only one who can't shake Draco Malfoy."

Hermione paused, thinking back on the previous few days since Draco's mission had been revealed.

"Blaise said something to me the other day that I've been considering," Hermione started, hesitantly, nervous about voicing the question that she had been trying to quash.

"What did the Slytherin Duke say?"

"Duke?" she chuckled. "Is that what he is?"

Fred nodded. "From your year, yeah. Malfoy, the prince. Blaise, the duke. I've always enjoyed duchy's more than kingdoms anyway."

Hermione rolled her eyes before continuing. "Blaise and I were talking the other day and he just… he just asked why Draco didn't do it."

"Didn't do what?"

"Didn't complete the mission," she said. "He had me in the snake pit when we were all at the Manor. I was… I was bewitched by Lucius, by the Other bond, I don't know… but he didn't. He broke me out of it and turned his back on his side for me. He could've completed his mission, gained favour from Voldemort, but he didn't."

"If everything was deception, then why didn't he complete the mission? Why did he sacrifice everything when he was so close?"

Fred pursed his lips. "I mean, Blaise has a point. Malfoy had you in his net."

"But he let me go," Hermione pressed on. "Even more, he came with me. He fought his own side for us! And I'm not saying that counteracts all the other stuff…"

"Dean," Fred said.

"Dean," Hermione repeated. "But I can't shake it. And it's making me wonder how he really feels about…well, about me."

Fred raised an eyebrow. "And how do you feel?"

"About what?"

"About him."

"Conflicted," she answered honestly. "What Draco and I had, however brief, was like nothing I'd ever experienced."

"I imagine sex with your magical lifetime partner was really above the grade."

"Fred," she hissed as he had to dodge another swat.

"But, then everything happened," she continued, rolling her eyes and ignoring the twin's muffled laughter. "And now he's a double traitor, who killed one of my friends, but I still can't shake him."

Fred appraised her for a moment. "You've been having a hard time, haven't you?"

She laughed without humour. "Of course, I bloody have, Fred. I can feel him everywhere I go. He's under my skin, and I'm so conscious of the fact that he's two floors away but I can't do anything about it. He's a deceitful, murderous prat, but I can't stop burning for him."

Fred made a face. "That's gross."

She shrugged. "It's true."

"Is that what this is about, Hermione?" Fred asked. "Sex? If you've got an itch you can't seem to scratch, I'm sure Zabini wouldn't mind…"

Fred promptly had to dodge another book lobbed his way.

"It's not just about sex," she hissed, flushing. "Though I'd be lying if I said I haven't thought about it. It's about the way my entire self, blood, magic, body, can't seem to stop wanting him, even though my brain knows how bloody terrible an idea it is."

Fred sighed. "I'm not sure I'll be much help with this one, Hermione. I don't have a lot of experience with lusting after Draco Malfoy. I'm no industry expert."

Before Hermione found another book to throw at him, he had raised his hands in a surrender motion.

"But I do have some advice."

"Hm?" she asked, hands on a book just in case.

"Just go to bed."

She couldn't help but laugh. "What?"

Fred sighed. "You've been sleeping in the library for two days. And everything is worse when you're tired. It's my go-to advice. Not feeling well? Go to bed. The anxiety of war getting you down? Go to bed. Obsessed with a blonde Death Eater? Go to bed."

"That's probably not a bad idea," she admitted before removing her hands from the book. She stood up and headed towards the door, placing her hand on Fred's shoulder as she passed.

"Thanks for the advice, Fred."

"No problem," he smiled. "It's who I am. Problem solver, twin extraordinaire."

She laughed and began her trek upstairs to the bedroom that she shared with Ginny. She'd be alone tonight, since Ginny was at the Burrow for the weekend.

As she wandered up the staircases of Grimmauld Place, she felt her heart rate increase. Her bedroom was on the floor just beneath where Draco was being held. If she just kept walking, let herself not think for once in her life, she could just continue up and see him…

And what? Forgive him? Yell at him? Hate him, fuck him, love him – she had no idea.

She reached her door and burst through quickly, slamming and latching it behind her. She couldn't do it, no matter how much her blood was pounding, how much her skin was begging.

She leaned back against the door, using it to support her weight as she panted, trying to steady her breathing. She ran her hands through her hair, pushing it out of her face. As her fingertips grazed her scalp, she was brutally thrust into a memory, of Draco lacing his fingers through her hair and pulling her lips up to meet his.

Merlin, could she not hold herself together for one moment? She felt her weight give out as she slid to the floor.

The sensations were overtaking her, her body, her magic, and her mind in battle over which would decide her next move. All the while, the memory of Draco above her replayed, as he whispered into her ear and thrust into her, slow until she was moaning, and fast until she was screaming.

But she couldn't go upstairs. She couldn't do it. Not now.

She couldn't do that to the Order.

She couldn't do that to herself.

But… that wasn't the only option.

She let go of her hair, which she had been holding like a lifeline and let her hands wander down her body, grazing against her chest and down to her thighs.

Ginny wasn't here. No one else would enter the room that night.

This was private.

The wall she had built up in her mind slowly came down, brick by brick, until the only image left was him, standing in front of her, the first time she had really seen him. All of him.

Her hands moved again, as her body won the battle, delaying any rational argument, any thought that this wouldn't help, that it would cause more problems long term.

She wanted him. Her body did. Her magic did. But she couldn't have him, except for like this.

No one would know.


Behind the magically locked door, Draco was lying in bed, hands behind his head, counting the ceiling cracks for the sixteenth time, when he first felt it.

It started as a light burn, pleasant even, spreading over his skin. But before he had time to question it, it had changed to a wildfire, centering itself in his core.

Pure heat.

He started panting, sitting up, looking around wondering what was happening. Was it a spell? Was it a curse? Had he been poisoned?

He had considered this for only a moment before the blood rushed from his head to his centre, forcing him to lie down.

Merlin almighty.


She let her mind wander, closing her eyes and giving herself up to memory, to fantasy. Her hands slipped under her shirt and found their way to her breasts. She touched them, imagining it was Draco, imagining it was Draco's hands making her quiver, making her moan. She slipped her hands to the back and undid her bra, letting it fall to the floor. She went back to her ministrations, rubbing one of her nipples slowly, a low gasp escaping her throat.

Her head fell back against the doorway. The image in her mind overtook her, with those eyes, that smirk, his voice whispering sweet nothings in her ear as his hands explored her body. She let her own do the exploration for now, but even in her mind, it was Draco's hands she wanted.


The feeling was overwhelming, overbearing, overstimulating. Draco took a deep breath, trying to calm down. But as the sensations assaulted him, he knew he was past the point of no return.

As his body reacted of its own accord, his mind reacted as well. He could only see her, the way he had been imagining her for weeks now, on her back, crying out, as her thighs tightened around him, with her hair fanned out on the pillow, green eyes on him as he made her come undone.

Oh, fuck it, he thought, eyes snapping open, unbuttoning his trousers. If he was going to be randomly assaulted by this pure, unadulterated lust, he might as well enjoy himself.

He didn't need to warm up. As Hermione clenched around him in his mind, he took himself in his hand and began to stroke.


Hermione gasped as a shot of heat went straight to her core. Unable to wait any longer, she slipped her hand under her waist band, fingers feeling at her soaked centre.


Oh Merlin almighty, he thought, head flying back and his strokes speeding up. He could almost feel how wet she was.


She moaned as her fingers started to rub, circling her clit. Her wants, her animalistic need took over, and she imagined Draco taking her, forcing her open on top of the table in the library, the way it had almost happened, the way she had wanted it to happen.

In her mind, he lifted her hips and laid over her, forcing her legs back. Thrusting, pounding into her with abandon, with everything between them – the magic transfer, the Other bond, anything, everything – fueling him. He fucked her like they were in a war, like he wanted her, like he had nothing to lose, but if he lost her, he would fall apart.

She brought one hand back up to her breast, kneading her nipple, as she touched herself thinking about Draco, about what she had had, what she could never have again.

It was too much; she could hardly breathe. She was so close. He was too far away.


It was like she were really here, under him, moaning, begging for him to fuck her, to take her. In his mind, nothing else mattered but her, them, the feeling of her slick walls clenching around his length. It felt too real. This wasn't memory. This wasn't fantasy. It was something else entirely.

He stroked himself harder, imagining it was her, always and forever her.

And beneath him, not in his mind, but in the house, he heard a moan and a cry. It was so close to his imagination. Too close.

He heard it again and came suddenly, letting out a cry as images of her face, her body mixed with reality.

He fell back on the bed, panting, and everything came into focus.

A rush of calm came over him as he understood.

The walls here were still as thin as ever.

He smirked. Perhaps all was not lost after all.


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