A peek into Draco's poor, chaotic mind, followed by a conversation between our hapless, hopeful couple.
For all his efforts, Draco simply could not stop his hands from twitching as he watched the blasted auror scan his wand for suspicious activity. He was highly unaccustomed to its absence on his person, particularly in the presence of an enemy; even if said enemy was technically not that anymore, Draco's accursed wolf could not be convinced. It was all he could do to keep himself from growling at the man like a bloody animal. Even if that's basically all he is now.
Draco fucking hated these biweekly check ins. He hated getting up at the sodding crack of dawn to floo to the ministry by the allotted time, only to wait in the uncomfortable straight-backed chairs for at least an hour and a half for some Auror schmuck to quit tossing off long enough to see him. He hated being sneered and glared at by said schmuck while being forced to answer the same banal questions. He especially hated the look of disappointment on the auror's face after the bastard scanned his wand and found nothing incriminating.
Draco wasn't an idiot. He saw it, plain as day: the disgust, the fear, the hatred in the eyes of everyone who looked at him. As the only marked Death Eater to escape imprisonment, he bore the brunt of the Wizarding world's anger towards his former people.
At least his secret remained safe, thanks largely in part to a certain head of curly hair that had been haunting him at every turn since the battle.
At the thought of her, the wolf growled longingly from deep in Draco's subconscious.
Fuck, he needed a smoke.
Clenching his fists, he reached for his mental walls to shut the girl away. The cold office he was sitting in faded as Draco gathered up every memory and reminder of her, laid out in his mind like the crisp pages of the books she so adored, and slammed it shut. A vein protruded on the Slytherin's pale temple as he envisioned a large trunk filled with all sorts of miscellaneous junk. At the bottom of said trunk was where he stashed the book, buried beneath superficial memories that would interest no one. He closed the trunk's heavy lid and locked it tight. The key was a lovely periwinkle blue, the very same shade of the dress she wore to the Yule Ball in fourth year-
The trunk rattled. Something pounded on the inside of the lid.
Draco's head pulsed painfully as he tried to keep it contained-
The trunk tipped over. Granger's book tumbled out and flew open.
The blond bit down on his tongue to hold back the growl of frustration at yet another failure at locking her away. His occlumency had been shit ever since Greyback sunk his filthy, razor sharp teeth into him all those months ago. The scar on his leg still had not healed, and he doubted it ever would. It was only thanks to the lycanthropic blood now running through his veins that Draco didn't walk with a limp.
Not that it mattered; he was a beast either way, a monster doomed to live out his life in hiding and isolation until his worthless wolf was driven insane by heart break. Lupin, the werewolf husband of his cousin and former DADA professor, had reluctantly sat down and explained everything to him at his mother's pleas. Draco hadn't the energy to react appropriately; it was a fate that suited a coward like him, he supposed.
When he was tossed into Azkaban, Draco had already resigned himself to that very thought. Amidst his dark, damp cell, he'd allowed his mind to sink deep down into the depths of depression and self-pity. There would be the occasional burst of rage, which always resulted in a broken cot and torn up knuckles, but aside from that, Draco simply wallowed in emptiness and solitude. He would sometimes spare a thought for his mother or his few friends, but the memory of their faces made him want to die, so he tried to lock them up tight behind his walls.
Draco remembered thinking that it was better for them that way. They'd forget about him soon enough, surely. They wouldn't be forced to endure the burden of his sins and failures. Perhaps, with the Dark Lord gone, at least some of them could move on. They deserved to. That's why he didn't bother to fight his arrest or the jeers and taunts of the guards.
Draco was sick of fighting. At least within the miserable walls of Azkaban, he would be left alone. There would be no more suffocating expectations, and no one would get hurt because of him ever again. Surely, the well-trained guards could handle a teenage werewolf, Draco had thought.
Of course, now he knew that he'd merely been deluding himself, but at the time, denial and aversion had been his go-to coping mechanism.
But then – she happened.
The Golden Girl herself had come barreling back into his life with that familiar ferocity glinting in her eyes, determined to confront the situation he'd unwillingly created for them.
As if she actually cared beyond her shiny Gryffindor conscience telling her to do what it stupidly perceived as right. As if he were someone worth saving.
Draco still remembered that moment with sickening clarity – the moment he'd unknowingly connected with Granger.
He'd spent the week after being turned in bed, sweating and shaking from both fever and nightmares. Her screams played in his head on repeat as though they'd been carved into his brain, just as Aunt Bella had carved into her.
It was the worst thing Draco had witnessed in his entire life.
Ironically, his failure to fulfill his task to kill Dumbledore worked in his favor in the long run; his cowardice and lack of malevolence was obvious for all to see, including the Dark Lord, who was appeased enough by Draco's efforts to not kill him, but unimpressed enough to not pay him anymore special attention. Draco supposed he was meant to feel demeaned by this, but all he'd felt was relief. He was more than happy to keep his head down and hide away in his room while the other Death Eaters did Voldemort's dirty work.
However, because of this, Draco had been vastly unprepared when the Three Golden Morons got themselves caught and were suddenly hauled right in front of him. He'd panicked and stammered out pathetic "I'm not sures" and "I don't knows."
The knowledge that Voldemort's victory rested entirely on his shoulders in that moment had very nearly done him in. All Draco knew was that he couldn't bear a lifetime of fear, of enslavement, of pretending that he gave a damn about his supposed side's cause. His hesitance to comply in that moment was born from his own selfishness and terror, regardless of what Potter or Granger said up on that podium at his trial.
Draco's mental walls had trembled and shook under Granger's cries of pain as she was tortured only several feet in front of him. Granger, who always walked with her head held high and a confident glint in her warm eyes. Granger, who never once bowed to his cruel teasing and always met his derogatory sneers and comments with her own brand of sharp, witty retort. Granger, who was smarter and stronger than any witch or wizard he'd ever known (not that he ever would have admitted as much before).
As he'd watched the one and only Hermione Granger scream, sob, and beg for mercy under his Aunt's wand, Draco still recalled the innate sense of wrongness that had slithered over him like the cold scales of a snake.
Not her, he remembered thinking. Not Granger. Granger isn't supposed to break. Granger's too strong. Those two dunces won't last a minute without her. She can't…she can't-
Draco hadn't fully realized it until then, but Hermione Granger had always struck him as a beacon of strength, immovable and unshakable. When he was young, it had infuriated him to no fucking end that a supposed 'mudblood' could so easily turn up her nose and ignore his attempts to get under her skin. As they grew older, well, she still infuriated him, but her resilience had earned his grudging respect; and even further under the layer Draco always hid that particular fact, he could now unashamedly admit that he'd strangely admired her as well.
Seeing Granger like that – defeated, injured, broken on his drawing room floor – broke something in him in turn.
When Bellatrix brought out the knife, Draco was nearly sick on the floor. When they sent him out to fetch the goblin, he was sick on the floor.
The week following the Golden Idiots' capture and subsequent escape from the Manor, Granger had hardly strayed from Draco's mind. In between bouts of fever and excruciating pain, he would blearily wonder if she was still alive. What she was doing. If her scar was healing at all. If she hated him.
Which was a completely asinine question, of bloody course she hated him, why the fuck wouldn't she?
Such thoughts always caused an odd fissure of pain in his chest and a weak growl in the back of his throat, but Draco had been too out of it to comprehend why.
When he'd reentered The Room of Hidden Things that fateful day, barely managing to conceal his trepidation from Crabbe and Goyle, everything Draco knew was forgotten the instant his newly sensitive nose caught her scent. His memories were a blur from there, every one of them tinged with that intoxicating aroma that made his very bones hum with longing. In the shortest of moments, Draco's human mind slid away, completely dominated by the new entity that had taken up residence within him.
Mate, it had chanted. Mate. Mate.
Everything else had ceased to matter; the wolf's only goal was her, her, her, find her, hold her, protect her, claim her, love her.
So he had. Draco faintly recalled his head burning with rage upon finding her with another male. He could remember lashing out like a possessed fool, determined to drive the competition away from his mate. Then there was the chase, the fucking glorious chase that only riled his wolf up even more.
By the time he'd finally caught up to her, Draco was desperately wrestling for control with the beast, who'd paused in complete awe of its chosen mate. Unfortunately, the stupid witch ruined his chances of reclaiming his mind when she shot a stunner right at him.
From there was a haze of the most heady, amazing scent in his nostrils and delectable taste on his tongue. Draco couldn't remember exactly what had occurred between him and Granger in those few moments, but the swell of humiliation and shame that accosted him whenever he thought of it made him think that was for the best.
What he couldn't forget, however – what he was positive he would never forget even if he tried – was the unbridled, all-consuming lust that had flooded his veins when he'd tasted her.
It was the kind of desire and temptation they spoke about in Muggle tales, the same desire that made Eve bite the apple, that entranced Hades to kidnap Persephone.
Just the memory of it…of her made Draco's core pulse with desire, and it genuinely terrified him to think what he might have done if his wolf hadn't sensed Granger's panic.
The scent of her fear had cut through the wave of lust, and he'd frozen atop her as her frightened cries sliced him deep. His wolf had quickly grown distraught at its mate's upset, tossing aside its own need in favor of comforting her.
It was at that moment that Draco finally understood why he constantly dreamt of Granger's torture; his wolf was punishing him for not doing more to help her.
The memory of her lying still and shattered on the floor sent the beast into an enraged frenzy, one that took full control of him as he fiercely held her, kissed her, reassured her. Merlin, those kisses. Draco had kissed girls before, but never like that. None before had made him feel complete in a way he'd been craving for his entire life, or filled the cavern of emptiness buried somewhere inside him that he'd always hidden away so well.
The feeling of Granger's smaller form securely ensconced in Draco's arms was what sparked it.
His magic – his very own core – had reached out for her in that moment of insanity, the wolf desperate to prove itself worthy of protecting her. In that life-altering moment, Draco unconsciously tied himself to the very witch he'd spent years watching and tormenting. The draw and attraction he'd previously felt towards her solidified and transformed into the dreaded mating bond.
He hadn't meant to do it. He hadn't meant to make himself so vulnerable. He hadn't meant to draw her into his atrocious mess. He hadn't meant to hurt them both.
Regardless, Draco had unwittingly given himself over to her, and it couldn't be undone, whether she accepted or not.
Even when Granger pushed him away and his wolf whimpered pathetically in rejection, he couldn't escape it. It was ridiculous. He didn't even particularly like her. And yet, when they escaped the room and Draco had finally come back to himself, his very first thought had been, "Of course. Of course it's her. Who else would it be?"
Then, the remaining fog had cleared, and the realization of what he'd just done crashed over him; and, like the coward he was, Draco had promptly panicked and fled.
He couldn't bring himself to face her; couldn't face the impending, certain rejection that awaited him.
By the time the battle was over and he was being cuffed by the Aurors, Draco thought his life was over. He would be imprisoned forever, or kissed by a Dementor, and no one would mourn him.
Then – just before being apparated away – the impossible occurred when he allowed himself to look back at her one last time. What he'd expected to be pain and empty longing turned into stunned confusion when he felt the slightest tug at his core. A tug that was accompanied by a similar pining reflected in Granger's own eyes as she met his gaze.
Draco recalled the mind-numbing state he'd remained in as he was processed into Azkaban, her expression all he was able to see. He remembered thinking over and over again how he must be mistaken, that he must have hallucinated in the post-battle haze, because the only way he would have felt that particular sensation in his magic was if the bond had begun properly forming between both parties. Which meant that Granger had accepted it.
Draco didn't know how he knew that, he just did, like an odd sort of instinct. However, while such a realization should have resulted in relief and elation on his part, all it actually did was deepen his despair. For even if by some act of negligence on fate's part, Granger had accepted the bond, the fact remained that he was a prisoner, a failed Death Eater, a pariah. The Malfoy name was in tatters, and Draco had been turned into one of the most feared and hated magical creatures in existence.
He had absolutely nothing to offer her. She didn't deserve to be trapped by his side for the rest of her life. Granger was now one of the biggest heroes of the wizarding world, and being associated with him in any way would only bring her down.
In any case, Draco was certain the famous little witch wanted this even less than he did, and his theory was confirmed when she foolishly came to visit him in Azkaban.
All he could remember of that hellish night was excruciating pain as his body reshaped itself, fear pounding throughout his being, and a certainty of death looming in the back of his mind.
When he woke up on that boat with her curled up next to him, the cocktail of confusion, shock, and contentment turned his brain into soup. For the briefest of moments, Draco lost himself to the bond. The tips of his fingers still tingled when he recalled the feeling of her skin beneath them when he caressed her face, the same face he used to covertly stare at in class, during meals, and in the library when she wasn't paying attention (which was often). His mixed fascination and resentment of the curly-haired muggleborn had been the cause of many adolescent mood swings, long study nights in attempt to beat her in marks, and illicit fantasies that often left him both highly ashamed and cripplingly aroused.
Though exhausted from its first transformation, Draco's wolf hadn't hesitated to make its presence known when its mate was so near, swiftly snapping the Slytherin out of the trance he'd found himself in. All too naturally, his familiar defenses slid into place, concealing every fear and insecurity that had hovered over him since he could remember. He couldn't bear Granger's reaction, her disgust, her anger once she realized what he'd done to them.
Although, if it were possible, Draco's feelings soured even further when she instead started waxing on about how she owed him for saving her, and tried to convince him that he wasn't the monster even he knew himself to now be.
He was no different in her eyes from the common house elves she'd once tried to free, a poor and wretched creature for her to take pity on. Draco refused to be another one of her little charity cases; she'd never want him, and that was that. Not like he'd expected any different.
When the witch lashed out with her traditional Gryffindor fire, accusing him of immaturity and blood prejudice, Draco had bit the inside of his cheek to keep from correcting her. It was better she thought that; it was a far easier explanation to swallow, and it would ensure she stayed away from him. Mates or not, Draco wouldn't allow Granger to be dragged down with him. She'd already suffered enough because of his ignorance and desperation.
During his trial, Draco resigned himself to staring down at the floor whilst he wrestled waves of nausea as Granger, Lupin, Tonks, Lovegood, and to his surprise, the 'Almighty Chosen One' himself, Harry Potter spoke on his behalf. A tsunami of humiliation, awe, and anger assaulted him as his sins were laid out one by one for all to see, as though he hadn't been reliving his mistakes enough.
The revelation that fucking Potter had been there to witness his breakdown in front of Dumbledore made him want to curl up in a hole and die. But nothing could beat the sheer indignance and shame he felt as the people he'd bullied, harassed, and wronged so many times crafted up excuses for those very mistakes, using their freshly minted heroic reputations to garner sympathy for him.
In the span of a few hours, Draco had gone from the evil scum of the earth to a poor, misguided boy who was given no choice.
How dare they. How dare they. What did they know about him? How could they possibly know what his true motivations were? How could they be certain that his actions were born from some late sense of morality and not simply because he was an indecisive coward like that rat Pettigrew?
Draco had said as much to his cousin, her husband, and aunt after being released into their custody, furious that their actions were now forcing him to rejoin society and face all the horrible mistakes he'd made.
His mother had cried when, in a distraught and enraged fit, Draco screamed that he would have rather been left to rot in prison. The spoiled child that threw a tantrum upon not getting his way still had not fully left him, even as damaged and traumatized as he now was. He'd wanted them to get angry and regret their actions, maybe call up their insipid auror friends to haul him back to Azkaban.
However, the broken young Slytherin had been drastically caught off guard when his Aunt Andromeda, whose face he could barely look at without feeling sick with fear, instead wrapped him up in a fierce hug.
Draco had stood there, petrified and unable to process the sudden display of affection, nor the teary apology she'd whispered into his ear. Then his mother joined in, holding him in a way she hadn't since he was a young boy. It was the warmest hug he'd ever received.
Sandwiched between his mother and aunt, feeling their magic swirl around him comfortingly, Draco had shattered. Neither witch complained as he'd soaked their sleeves in his tears and sobbed loudly in their ears; they merely held him tighter.
Since then, Draco had been living quietly at Andromeda's with his remaining family, spending the majority of his time brooding, reading, and attempting to rebuild his shot occlumency walls. He sat for meals with everyone and replied as best he could when Tonks or his aunt attempted to engage him in conversation, but aside from that, he was mostly left alone, for which he was grateful. Draco knew he needed to take advantage of the remaining summer months to prepare himself for his return to Hogwarts.
His mother had already worked out a plan with Headmistress McGonagall regarding his lycanthropy, who swore to guard his secret from the rest of the faculty and student body. Draco was skeptical, but mildly comforted by fact that McGonagall was the type to keep her word, even to a complete reprobate like him. Besides, in light of the circumstances, he knew his wolf would only be one of the challenges he'd face over the course of eighth year-
The biggest of which was the cause of the wolf's painful yearning.
Every member of the household had taken turns urging Draco to contact Hermione (because apparently secrets didn't exist at his aunt's house). Even Remus, the person he'd undoubtedly had the least amount of interaction with, warned him more than once of the fate that awaited him should he continue to avoid his mate. Draco ignored them all. He'd decided that, after getting through the train wreck eighth year was sure to be, he would move on and live the rest of his life in whatever peace he could find. Perhaps he'd move to his family's chateau in France, one of the Malfoy's few properties that hadn't been seized by the Ministry.
Draco had no delusions of ever being truly happy, but he would no longer spit in the face of the second chance he'd been given. If not for his sake, then his mother's. He owed it to her and those who had testified for him to at least try and live for however long he had left; before his accursed wolf couldn't take the grief anymore. Personally, Draco thought it fittingly ironic that he should be done in by not one, but two of the very beings that he once thought of as beneath him.
No one was beneath him now.
It was well past lunch time when the fucking auror finally cleared Draco to go home. He swore these damn visits were getting longer and longer each month. The fact that he would have to endure them for entire duration of his probation made him want to hex something, but he once again tried to remind himself that he was let off easy; something everyone loved to remind him of almost daily.
Hungry and irritated, Draco elected to apparate home rather than subject his highly sensitive nose to the floo.
However, the moment his feet hit the grass, a very different scent assaulted him. A familiar scent.
Draco shivered as the wolf roared with excitement, urging him forward towards its – their – towards her.
Rage rose up behind the elation, the beast and the man at odds within him. Fuck, fuck, fuck, what was she doing here!? Had he not made his feelings abundantly clear? Bloody stubborn Gryffindors!
Draco very nearly turned to apparate again, before remembering that his probation prohibited him from going anywhere without a Ministry-approved escort.
Dread speared his heart, the world turning fuzzy as the all-too familiar feeling of being trapped squeezed him. He didn't think he could take another rejection.
"Pathetic. You're weak, Draco," the voice of his father sneered somewhere in the back of his mind.
Growling, Draco reached for his mental walls and shoved as much as could behind them, shutting everything out quickly enough to cause a rush of dizziness. He didn't care. He needed those walls if was going to survive this encounter.
"You feel nothing. You think nothing. There is nothing," the calm drawl of his late godfather echoed, chasing away the fear and panic.
Arranging his face into an expression of fury, Draco marched towards the house, nearly tossing the door off its hinges when he threw it open. He'd yet to get a handle on his new strength.
Arriving in the parlor where everyone was gathered was followed by a strange pressure in his chest. The unease was so apparent, Draco could practically smell in it the air.
But all that went away the moment he laid eyes on her for the first time in two months. His damn wolf practically sang with joy and the bond pulsed almost violently, causing Draco to dig his nails into his palm to keep himself from visibly wincing; and by sharp intake of air from Granger as she took an unconscious step forward, he could tell she'd felt it too.
Bollocks. Was this the consequence of ignoring and suppressing the bond for so long?
It physically hurt to tear his gaze from Granger, but Draco forced himself to take note of the rest of the room. Tonks and Remus were studying them carefully, as if waiting for some sudden move from either of them. Aunt Andromeda was watching with a keen eye, and though her expression betrayed nothing of her thoughts, it instantly made Draco suspicious. Finally, there was his mother, whose expression was somewhere between hopeful and triumphant.
He grit his teeth as the pieces fell into place. Of course his meddling mother was behind this! He knew she'd tried to contact Granger after his trial, but he'd foolishly believed she'd stopped after he asked her in the trademark pureblood, passive aggressive way to mind her own business.
Bugger. Honestly, he should have known his mother wouldn't let it go so easily.
"Draco darling," spoke his traitorous mother. "You've come at a good time. We were all just having a chat with Miss Granger about your…situation."
Draco's eye twitched as he tried very hard to remind himself that baring his teeth at his own mother was a poor idea.
"As I stated very clearly before Mother, our situation is no one's business but our own," he replied tersely.
"A situation that you have also both failed to make progress on for months now, my dragon," said Narcissa, unfazed by her son's surliness. "I simply took it upon myself to assist in giving you both a push in the right direction."
"There is no progress left to make!" Draco snapped, ignoring his wolf's opposing snarl. "We've already decided not to pursue anything!"
His chest tightened. The wolf was furious with the man's stubbornness, growling incessantly at his continued efforts to keep them from their mate.
His mother raised a skeptical brow. "Did you now? According to what Miss Granger has told us, it rather seems like you just decided that on your own and then pushed her away."
Stiffening, Draco's eyes darted automatically to the young Gryffindor. Granger was looking back at him, puffy eyes filled with uncertainty. He flinched at her sorrowful expression and tear-streaked face, fingers twitching with the urge to go comfort her.
Feel nothing. Think nothing.
His walls shuddered. "I-" his throat closed the second he opened his mouth.
Narcissa gave a weary sigh. "Draco, please, I know this has been hard for you – for the both of you, but I beg you to give the bond a chance. This could-"
"I already told you why I can't, Mother!" Draco's voice cracked, much to his embarrassment.
"Oi, Draco, hear us out. We're trying to help you-" Tonks tried, only to be interrupted in the same way.
"This isn't your business! Just because you have a bond too doesn't give you the right to tell me what to do about mine!"
Just then, a rush of protective pheromones flooded the air, causing Draco to shrink in on himself. "I'll ask you not to yell at my wife," said Remus, his tone somehow even and dangerous at the same time.
"It's alright, love," Tonks assured, stroking her husband's arm.
Though the blond Slytherin would never admit it, Remus made both himself and his wolf nervous. He almost always tensed in the man's presence, instincts causing his defenses to raise against the older, more experienced werewolf. Draco thought it probably had something to do with pack dynamics and alpha wolves, but he didn't care enough to dissect it any further.
"Draco," it was his aunt that spoke next, her voice warm but commanding. "We think there's been quite a few misunderstandings between the two of you, to put it lightly. We are not attempting to force either of you into anything you don't want. We simply think you should clear the air and really talk about this at least once before you make any final decisions about the bond. You've both done nothing but avoid each other ever since your trial. It's clear that this bond is not going away, regardless of how it was formed or whether or not you both want it. Soul bonding is incredibly serious, and should be treated as such."
Andromeda gave a pointed look towards the Golden Girl. "This is not the time to be selfish, Draco. Remember, you are not the only one affected by this."
Draco's knuckles went white. Selfish? She thought he was being fucking selfish? This was probably the first time in his entire sodding life that he was actively choosing the unselfish option! He was the one that was going to lose his goddamn mind and probably kill himself by rejecting the bond! Meanwhile, she would get to walk away basically unscathed! How dare she accuse him of being selfish!
"You lot really think Granger should be with stuck with me!? After I just fought against her in a bloody war!? You honestly think the fucking public would just brush off their new heroine being on the arm of a Death Eater!?" Draco found himself shouting, vision going blurry at the edges.
Fuck. He would not fucking cry in front of these people. Not again.
His remaining family eyed him with various sympathetic, mournful expressions. "Perhaps that's something you should ask Hermione herself," Andromeda replied softly.
Draco's gaze dropped. "I highly doubt Granger wants to-"
"Yes."
Her voice rolled through him like a stampede, causing his eyes to dart up. The insecurity that ruled Granger's expression just a few moments before was nowhere to be found, replaced by that trademark Gryffindor – or perhaps it was simply her – fire.
Draco's throat went dry as he swallowed.
"Let's talk, Malfoy. I want to." She spoke without a single waver, and Draco knew he was fucked.
"You can use our room. It's the first door to the left of the stairs," Tonks offered.
Granger nodded without missing a beat, and the next thing he knew, he was being dragged by the arm toward his certain doom. So stunned was he by her brashness, Draco couldn't even muster up the will to resist. He could feel her touch like branding iron through his shirt sleeve and his wolf lapped it up like water after a long, hot day. How embarrassing.
Granger pulled him into his cousin's room and closed the door behind them, effectively trapping them both. Draco went rigid as her scent permeated the air of the smaller space, the light sweetness threatening to strangle him. He swiftly cracked open the window with a flick of his wand before the intoxication made him do something stupid, like jump her again.
He really needed a goddamn smoke.
Granger's eyes narrowed in question, but thankfully she refrained from pushing the issue. Instead, she lifted her chin and crossed her arms, much like the Granger who used to counter his petty taunts in the school hallways. For a fleeting moment, Draco was relieved for the familiarity; he honestly didn't know what he would have done if she'd remained defeated-looking and weepy-eyed like she'd been when he'd first arrived.
That relief died quickly, however. He'd known this headstrong witch for years, knew just how bloody stubborn and tenacious she could get when trying to find answers.
All Draco could do was hold fast to his occlumency walls and pray they held through this confrontation; though by the way the wolf was viciously scratching at them with all its might in attempt to reach its mate, his faith was rather low.
Meanwhile, Granger practically oozed confidence, her piercing gaze unrelenting as she sized him up and prepared to interrogate him. Unlike him, she clearly knew exactly what she was doing.
Hermione had no fucking idea what she was doing.
She'd never really given much thought to what she would do the next time she saw Draco; would she be angry? Upset? Relieved? Would she yell at him? Ignore him?
As it is, she'd been woefully and ridiculously unprepared to see her bond mate, especially following the soul-baring conversation she'd been abruptly subjected to. The sight of him had made the bond positively cry in relief, and she'd had to physically stop herself from flinging herself into his arms like some silly damsel.
Caught in a confusing net of joy, embarrassment, and shock, Hermione had only been able to stand and watch with increasing bemusement as Malfoy proceeded to yell at every person in the room aside from her. At first, she was certain this would be Azkaban all over again, except this time, his entire family would be there to witness her humiliation.
But then, Malfoy – the boy who used to taunt and bully her, the boy she'd secretly watched slowly deteriorate throughout sixth year, the boy who'd actively fought against her and all she loved – cracked under his family's reprimands and was pushed to the verge the tears. His twisted, tortured expression had simultaneously broken something in her and flipped a switch in her brain.
In that moment, Hermione realized that she had never been the only one suffering from the bond; Malfoy was clearly affected by it just as much, but was perhaps, a bit better at hiding it.
Up until then, Hermione hadn't realized just how badly she'd needed to see that, to know that she wasn't alone in her feelings.
And suddenly, as though that revelation opened up a door of clarity, many of the things Narcissa, Andromeda, Tonks, and Remus had been trying to tell her made sense.
Hermione found herself recalling her and Malfoy's disaster of a conversation months earlier, how he'd growled at her to leave him be and she'd stormed off in a huff. She'd allowed hurt and anger to fill her, but now for the first time she wondered if, perhaps, she'd focused too hard on the things he did say, when it was the things he didn't say that she should have listened to.
After all, they may be mates now, but Hermione and Draco still didn't know each other, not to mention all the bad blood they had between them. Of course Malfoy wouldn't just open up and be honest with her. She wouldn't have either, were she in his shoes.
With that, a hard determination had filled the young witch, her inner Gryffindor rearing its head in all its assertive glory. Hermione was tired of sitting around in a sorry state day after day, subjected to the whims of a bond she constantly tried and failed to ignore. She wanted answers, and she wanted them now!
…Except, she hadn't planned any further than getting Malfoy alone, and now that she had him where she wanted him, Hermione had no clue how to go about getting said answers.
The mighty Slytherin prince was being no help whatsoever, standing in complete silence and staring at her like he was on death row, and she the executioner about to lower the axe.
Hermione was all too aware that she more-or-less held his future in her hands, and if that wasn't karma at its absolute worst, she didn't know what was. She could condemn him right here and now, become the harbinger of the hubris he'd carried since they were children, enacting her own personal revenge for those years of verbal and emotional abuse.
But one look at Malfoy, and Hermione knew she couldn't. Even if she were still angry about all his petty harassment, she would not be able to bring herself to punish him any further. He'd already been tried and sentenced following his forced servitude under a megalomaniac, his body infected and warped with one of the worst conditions in the wizarding world. Any more would be the equivalent of kicking a dead horse.
Yes, Draco Malfoy…had been punished enough already, Hermione thought. And she didn't want to be the cause of anymore unnecessary pain…to him, or anyone. They'd both seen enough of that to last ten lifetimes.
Regardless, Hermione was still Hermione, and she would not be making any decisions before getting some answers.
That in mind, the witch drew in a breath and softened her stance. As much as she wanted to demand that he tell her everything she wanted to know this very moment, she knew such an interrogative approach would only make him close himself off. A confrontation wasn't what either of them needed right now.
They needed a talk.
...Preferably one not accompanied by yelling and accusations. But how could she get Malfoy to relax with her?
Eyes darting this way and that, Hermione finally parted her tentative lips and said, "You, um…you look better."
He really did, the witch noticed as she studied him quietly. He'd put on some weight, and his face no longer looked so sallow and tired. Though his skin had yet to regain its healthy glow and his muscles their familiar bulk from before sixth year, Hermione was strangely relieved to see some visual evidence of recovery in him.
Malfoy blinked at her statement, face carefully blank. "…I guess."
Wonderful. This conversation was starting out great.
The young witch shifted in the awkwardness, trying not to get frustrated. Talking with Malfoy civilly was turning out to be much harder than she anticipated. "You've been staying here too, then?"
He nodded, not meeting her gaze.
"Good, that's…that's good. I'm glad you and your mother had this place to come to, since your manor is uninhabitable right now. Has, er…has the adjustment been difficult?" Hermione asked, attempting to start with a safe, casual topic to get the ball rolling.
A shadow passed over Malfoy's expression. "Any place is better than there," he murmured.
Startled and somewhat pained by his haunted eyes, the Gryffindor chewed her lip worriedly. "And your…other adjustment, how has that been?"
"Granger…" A voice heavy with resignation spoke, followed by the speaker plopping down on the bed with a hand pressed to his forehead. "Look, you don't have to do this, alright? I don't expect anything from you. You should just move on and forget this ever happened."
Words similar to the ones he'd spoken back at Azkaban, words that ignited fury and pain then; but now, they invoked a sense of curiosity along with a tinge of sadness on his behalf.
As Hermione studied the solemn blond, she struggled to reconcile the Malfoy she'd known as a child with the one that sat before her now. One was a schoolyard bully, full of confidence born from a privileged upbringing and shiny pedigree, so certain that things would always go his way. The other, a tired and defeated survivor, exposed to the cruelties of the world and resigned to whatever punishments life may throw at him.
Malfoy was…unrecognizable.
Hermione was lost as could be. What should she do? What could she do with this broken man her own magic had tied her to?
Walking away would be the easy solution, she knew that.
But…would she truly be content with that option? Could she graduate, get a career, get married, and have children, all while forgetting that she was magically bound to another? Remus said the bond would never go away, so what would it feel like five, ten, or twenty years from now? How long would it take for Malfoy to fade away?
He needs you.
A foreign whisper from somewhere deep inside told Hermione, causing her heart to clench.
Maybe so…
That might be true, but…but-
"I'm scared…"
And it was true. How on earth was she supposed to help him? How could she possibly be of any use when she was just as broken as he was?
Malfoy jerked and looked up at her in alarm, and it was only then Hermione realized she'd said that aloud.
Old instincts reared up as she tensed, screaming to not show even a hint of weakness, not to him.
Then, there was a tender, barely-there brush of magic against hers, one that stole her breath. And just like that, those defenses fell silent.
It was then she realized that this was the key to connecting with him; one of them had to show the courtesy of their true feelings. One of them had to take the first step. Hermione it seems, though unintentionally, had done just that.
And she was…relieved. Maybe…maybe she wanted to take that step towards him.
And to think just an hour ago, she'd been ranting about how much she disliked him.
"…Of me." Malfoy's rasp drew her from her thoughts, and she was dismayed to see him closing off even more. "You're scared of me," he mumbled, voice thick with shame.
Hermione's mouth opened and closed. Malfoy was occluding so hard his eyes looked like those of a porcelain dolls', shielded and hard.
Sighing harshly, the Gryffindor rubbed her temple. "I've never been afraid of you Malfoy, and I'm not now."
His expression flickered.
Summoning her nerve, Hermione approached the bed and sat beside him.
Malfoy flinched and straightened as though he'd been shocked. The panicked Slytherin moved to rise, but Hermione pinched his sleeve before he could. "Please don't run," she pleaded gently. "I just want to talk."
Malfoy exhaled shakily, eyeing her hand as though it would bite him. "I-" His expression crumbled in despair as he pulled his sleeve from her grasp. "What do you want me to say, Granger?"
Hermione folded her hands, ignoring how much they wanted to reach for him. That was just the bond talking.
"Well…you could start by telling me why you want me to just forget about all this?"
Malfoy scraped a hand through his hair. "Because it's for the best, obviously," he bit out.
"For who?" she prodded.
He eyed her incredulously. "Are you serious?"
Hermione huffed. "Me, then. But what about you? Is that really what you want?"
He breathed a soft, deprecating laugh. "Does it really matter?"
The young witch frowned, thinking back again to his blunt words at the prison. If he'd been disregarding himself all this time, then…he must have been trying to protect her. In his own truculent way.
"Of course you matter, Draco," Hermione murmured, his first name slipping off her tongue all too easily.
He flinched as though she'd slapped him and sprung to his feet. Clutching a hand to his chest, Malfoy paced in short lines. The bond seemed to hum with an echo of his anxiety, making Hermione anxious in turn. Finally, the Slytherin leaned against a wall, hiding his face in his elbow. "Please don't say things like that to me," he panted. "I'm…barely in control as it fucking is."
Hermione twisted her fingers together. "I'm sorry, but it's true. I just thought you deserved to hear it-"
"I don't deserve anything!" His shout rang through the air, causing her to flinch back.
"Gods, Draco…" she breathed pitifully.
What has this war done to you?
Malfoy knocked his forehead into the wall then turned to her with a sneer. "What? You feel sorry for me, is that it?"
"Yes, I'm sorry for you!" Hermione snapped, jumping to her feet. "I'm sorry for all of us! I'm sorry for myself! I'm sorry that we've all suffered so much! I'm bloody sorry!"
Draco deflated, all the fight leaving him. He slid down the wall, his head dropping between his knees.
A thick silence stretched between them.
The bond had increased to a constant thrumming beneath Hermione's ribcage, as if encouraging them to continue.
"Granger…please. Just leave this alone. I know you don't really want this," Malfoy whispered desolately.
The young witch curled her arms around herself. "I don't know what I want, Malfoy. I don't know you."
"You know enough," he murmured darkly.
She shook her head. "But I don't, not really. I don't know this new you."
The wizard peered up at her, expression unreadable. "I don't want you to feel obligated to accept me – this. You're…you don't deserve to be saddled with someone like me. Not after everything."
Hermione approached him like she would a cornered animal. "Thank you for thinking of me…but that's not only your decision to make. This bond affects us both. I…I still don't really know what to do about it, but…I don't think we should ignore it anymore. We've seen how well that's worked out."
Slowly, she lowered herself to sit on the floor in front of him. Malfoy watched her warily, but didn't move.
Drawing in a shaky breath, Hermione continued. "I thought maybe we could…try and figure it out together. See if…there's anything…there."
He went still as a statue, eyes blank with shock. Arduous seconds ticked by with no reply, causing her to squirm.
"I just – Tonks said we had extremely compatible cores, which is why we bonded so easily, and well…I just thought this must have happened for a reason, right? I just – this whole thing is so unprecedented and rare, wouldn't it be a waste to not…at least…try? I don't know…" she trailed off, her voice growing smaller and smaller.
Then-
"And if we fail? If it turns out we're terribly suited? What then?" Malfoy spoke at barely above a whisper, staring at her like a wounded animal.
It was in that spooked, tentative stare that it hit her: Draco was scared too.
"I…" Hermione murmured, "…I don't know. I guess I'm being a little selfish, aren't I?"
He exhaled sharply in what might have been a laugh. "Granger, you're literally offering to save me and my wolf from certain madness. I am the only one who benefits from what you're suggesting."
For some reason, Hermione felt a smile tug at her lips. "Well, we won't know that unless we try, now won't we?"
Malfoy sighed, his head falling back into the wall with a thunk. "You're barmy, Granger."
She shrugged, laughing nervously. "Yeah…maybe."
Truthfully, the young witch didn't know why she was suddenly so determined to explore the bond with him. Perhaps it was her academic curiosity being stirred awake by the possibility of learning about something new and rare. Or maybe Ron had a point when he accused her of having a bleeding heart for anything that moved.
Or maybe…maybe it was the promise of a distraction from the crippling pain of the war that still lingered.
Regardless, Hermione's mind was made up, and not even a despondent Draco Malfoy could change it. After seeing the heart-wrenching state the former Slytherin prince had been left in by the war, she knew she'd regret it for the rest of her life if she didn't try to help him.
Who knows, maybe she'd finally figure out how to help herself along the way while she was at it. Merlin knows she'd had no luck so far.
However-
"Before we move further, there's, um…there is one thing that I need to know, Malfoy."
He tensed, eyes once again glossing over with occlumency shields.
Hermione chewed her lip, fisting the fabric of her jeans. "Do you-" she cleared her throat, "-do you still think I'm…that muggleborns…are beneath you?" The witch sucked in a breath. "Because if you do, then I can't do this. I won't. So I need you to tell me right now if you still believe those – those disgusting, archaic, prejudiced-"
"Granger," his tired voice interrupted, and she paused, face heating with embarrassment. Malfoy's hands twitched as though to reach for her, but he curled them into fists instead. "If I still thought of you in that way, I promise you that we wouldn't have bonded."
Hermione's heart stuttered, and another question immediately flew to the tip of her tongue-
But the pain laced through Draco's expression stole the words before she could speak them.
An odd sensation of rawness hit her then, a sort of emotional exhaustion that made her want to curl up and sleep for a long time. There were still so many things she didn't understand, so many questions she'd wanted to ask him-
When did you stop believing in blood purity?
Did you really choose me?
Do you really want this?
Why me? Why?
But…no. Hermione was tired, and so was he.
Perhaps, it was alright if she didn't have all the answers right now. For now, this was enough.
"I believe you," she replied quietly.
Malfoy swallowed, eyes softening slightly.
Chancing a shaky smile, Hermione allowed her hand to inch forward until her fingers barely brushed his. They both shuddered at the contact.
"W-Well, um," she stammered, attempting to steady her voice.
It's just the bond.
"I should probably get going, it's been a…a long day. I think we should both give this some more thought."
Malfoy looked as though he might protest, but he pursed his lips and nodded tersely.
Hermione nodded in return and stood, her fingers immediately growing colder. Locking them behind her back, she licked her lips and said, "We'll both be going back to Hogwarts soon. We can talk more then. Or…or you can owl me, if you like."
His eyes – the silver pools that had haunted her dreams for so many weeks – looked at her so strangely, as though he couldn't puzzle her out. But now, there was the slightest hint of something else in them, too…hope.
Nodding awkwardly, the witch moved to leave the room. As she opened the door, a quiet rasp halted her steps:
"Thank you."
Hermione's throat tightened.
For the first time in months, her chest lightened. For the first time, the bond didn't feel like such a burden.
I really hmm'd and haa'd over this chapter. I couldn't decide if I was revealing too much, but I wanted to put Draco and Hermione on even ground in terms of where they are mentally and emotionally right now. Was it too much? Let me know.
Sorry this one took a hot minute. The holidays pretty much bulldozed over me like the U.S. in every world war. Then January was a right mess and my university decided to screw me over, so now I am not going to school as planned, and I have to find a different school to finish out my degree at, which is gonna be so much fun. But on the bright side, since I'm temporarily homework free, I'll have some extra time to indulge myself and you, my dear readers, in this wonderful piece. Who knows, maybe I'll even get out more than one update a month! The possibilities are endless! :D
Thank you all again for your continued support. Your reviews have really kept the flames of my motivation alive.
