Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or these characters. Thank you JK Rowling for your brilliance.
A/N: This is a one-shot of mini moments between Draco and Hermione. It's supposed to represent hidden moments that turned the tide of the war and Draco's future.
Helen Granger rubbed her thumb over the white mark on her 9-month-old daughter's left wrist. It was smooth to the touch but peculiar in shape: the outline of what seemed to be a sideways teardrop. She held her daughter's wrist close to her eyes, trying to discover how it came to be. At first, she had thought it was a bit of breast milk that had dried on her wrist, but it didn't rub off. No matter what she tried, the mark wouldn't go away. It was permanently on her daughter's previously unblemished skin.
As clueless as an exhausted first-time father, her husband, John, shrugged and said maybe they just hadn't noticed it before. Helen watched him walk away, yawning and muttering something about napping while Hermione napped. Then, deciding that maybe she was overreacting, she vowed to take her to the pediatrician if any more appeared. But they didn't, so Helen let it go.
Eleven years later, John and Helen were staring dumbfounded at an equally peculiar woman with a long cape and a pointed hat who had just informed them their daughter - their smart, vibrant, slightly socially awkward daughter, was a witch. "Magic?" Hermione whispered. Her mind was traveling a million miles a minute. "I'm magic?"
"Well," the peculiar woman, who introduced herself as Minerva McGonagall, chirped, "you have magic. You are magical." Hermione rubbed her left wrist absentmindedly, and her brow furrowed with the clarification. "Hogwarts is a school that will help you harness that magic and use it properly."
"Are all people with, er, magic - are they all marked?" Helen asked. Her teacup was shaking in her hand. She placed it down on the table in front of her, slightly embarrassed. Her husband took her hand, giving her a small smile.
"Marked?" Minerva frowned.
Hermione understood her mother's question. She uncovered her wrist and held it out in front of her so Minerva could see it. "It just appeared when Hermione was almost a year old. We never knew what it was." Helen shared. She gripped her husband's hand now, almost afraid of the answer.
Minerva gasped slightly. "No. That's very unusual." So she stared at the mark on her wrist for a moment more before glancing at Helen and John again. Both of them looked petrified. "But not alarming." She added quickly. "That's a soul mark."
"A what?" Hermione asked.
"A soul mark. I can tell because of the odd color. It's not common in our world. I have only seen one other before." She smiled slightly at the young bushy-haired girl before her. "It means you have a soul mate."
Nothing could have prepared Hermione for the first few days at Hogwarts. She tried to act as though all of it was normal, but she was overwhelmed and, quite frankly, scared out of her mind. She had done her best to know what was coming. She read Hogwarts, a History front and back twice between the time she was told she was a witch and leaving for school. She read through the first few chapters of every textbook she purchased. But now she was sitting in her first class staring into an empty black pot, sifting through disgusting, unusual ingredients and trying to convince herself this wasn't a dream.
She literally rolled up her sleeves and got to work, saying a small prayer for bravery and focus. However, before she had even added the first ingredient, she heard a sharp gasp beside her. She turned to find a lanky blonde boy staring at her wrist. She recognized him from the train ride to school. He was the Slytherin that introduced himself to Harry before the sorting - Draco Malfoy. From all she had seen from him thus far, he was a bully.
"Hurry along, Mr. Malfoy. You'll need every moment to brew this potion correctly." Professor Snape's eyes darted to Hermione's wrist and then to Draco. Draco's eyes widened at his professor before hurrying back to his table. Before starting his potion, he closed his eyes briefly and rubbed his right wrist.
Later, when Draco passed in his potion, Snape told him to stay behind after class had ended. Draco hung his head silently in his chair when all the students had gone. They remained silent for several minutes, his professor, yes, but Snape was also Draco's godfather and nothing more in this moment. "She's a mudblood," Draco whispered.
"Draco, watch your language." Snape drawled. He was there the night Draco was born. The family had been overjoyed at the sight of the soul mark on his right wrist - the perfect outline of a sideways teardrop—the ideal counterpart to the mark on Ms. Granger's left wrist. Narcissa, Draco's mother, had often spoken to Snape about how to find the woman who was perfectly suited for her son. Snape assured her repeatedly that they were marked, they would find each other. He never believed they would find each other so young or that their lives would be on, what seemed to be, crossroads.
Draco dropped his head into his hands. "What do I do now, Uncle Sev?" Snape softened at Draco's anguish.
What Draco did was nothing. He chose to ignore the mark he saw that day in Potions and continued with his life as though nothing had occurred. He would have said he completely forgot about the matching soul mark on Hermione's arm if he was ever asked. He pretended to just that until the Chamber of Secrets was opened, and dread immediately filled his heart.
He had no idea how the note was painted on the wall, but any note written with blood was most likely connected to the house of Dark Wizards - his house. He tried not to shiver at the thought of Hermione being struck down by whatever was in the Chamber of Secrets. He needed her to be safe. The thought nearly repulsed him - keeping a muggle-born safe? But he couldn't ignore the desire to shelter her that sat deep in his bones.
He had to warn her what this meant. He had to scare her to keep her on alert. "Enemies of the heir beware. That means you'll next, mudbloods." Draco hissed, looking directly at Hermione. He hoped she would be scared; he hoped she'd think twice before walking around alone or looking for danger like their first year. He hoped he'd see fear in her eyes; instead, he found determination and bravery. Stupid Gryffindor, he thought.
Draco spent most of the rest of the school year terrorizing Hermione so that he could keep tabs on her. They were nearly a month away from the end of their second year when he stood in the shadows of the hospital wing watching Madam Pomfrey fluff the pillows of a very petrified Hermione Granger. So close, Draco thought. A single tear fell out of his eye before he wiped it furiously from his cheek like it was an insult. It was almost like he could feel her fear from that darkened corner. It took everything in him to turn from the girl and stalk to the dungeons.
"Why aren't you doing anything, Uncle Sev?" Draco slammed his hands against his godfather's desk, earning him a raised eyebrow and the Potion Master's attention.
"I assure you, Mr. Malfoy," Snape drawled, "We are doing everything. The mandrakes are almost fully mature, and then it will only take two days to brew the potion to release the students from their bind." So he looked intently at his godson. "I wasn't aware you were so motivated to save your fellow students."
"It's a recent development," Draco muttered, daring a glance at Snape.
"I see." Snape stood up and moved to look out the small window toward the greenhouses. "Muggleborns are interesting additions to our world, aren't they Draco?" Draco remained silent. "They defy all odds and work against everything that generational wizarding families understand. They are like a ripple in the water." Snape turned and put his hand on Draco's shoulder. "For some, however, they are like a tidal wave." Draco looked pained. Snape knew exactly why he was so emotional about Hermione's current state, but Draco couldn't bring himself to admit it out loud. Snape didn't expect him to. "When the mandrakes are ready, I will send word, and you can assist me in the brew. Maybe that will ease your mind." Draco nodded silently, afraid another tear would fall if he didn't turn and leave immediately.
She hit Draco Malfoy. She actually hit Draco Malfoy. Her eyes darted to where the blonde was pouring over his Potions notes in the library. A small smile graced her lips before she wiped it from her face. Even though she was a mini-celebrity in the Gryffindor common room, due to Ron's big mouth, she wasn't exactly proud of it. It seemed odd to her, considering everything the trio had been through in the past week, that the talk of Hogwarts was how she punched Draco Malfoy. But, of course, none of the students knew about the werewolf, the Grimm, and the time-traveling adventure. So alas, she was here less than three days later, desperately trying to focus on her Potions notes for the end-of-year exam.
However, she couldn't focus because something ached deep into her heart. Her eyes kept darting to where Draco sat, almost calling to her. Although all of Gryffindor and most of Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw cheered her name when she entered the Great Hall, she felt guilty. Obviously, he deserved it, but she was ashamed of how she treated him. She chewed on the end of her quill, contemplating whether she should walk over and apologize to him. She nearly laughed out loud at the thought. She could see the Daily Profit evening headline: Hermione Granger Defies Social Norms by Apologizing to Known-Voldemort Sympathizer. Ok. Maybe it was a bit extreme. Either way, she knew if she did apologize and he accepted it - everything would change.
She groaned out loud at her internal battle. She pressed her forehead down on the table. She wasn't getting any studying done. She might as well give up until tomorrow. She slowly packed up her notes and textbooks, wishing she could talk to her mom about her thoughts. What would Helen Granger say? Her mother's gentle but confident voice rang in Hermione's head. "Well, Hermione. Don't ever let your pride get in the way if you think you should do something. If it's right, it doesn't matter how hard it is. You still need to do it." Then, sliding the last book into her bag, Hermione decided to apologize to the blonde.
Before changing her mind, she slung her bag over her shoulder and walked slowly to Draco's table. He looked up when her shadow darkened his notes. His eyes widened at first and then narrowed in suspicion. "What do you want?"
"Um." Hermione shifted her weight and bit her lip nervously. "I wanted to say…" Why was he so intimidating? She asked herself. "I'm sorry for hitting you a few days ago."
"You're sorry?" Draco sat back in his chair and crossed his arms. "Is this some type of joke? Did Potthead and Weaslebee put you up to this?"
Hermione sighed. "No." She shifted on her feet nervously. "I was wrong. I shouldn't have done it. I just want you to know - I am sorry."
Right, when she finished, Harry and Ron came up behind her. "What's going on here?" Ron asked.
At the same time, Harry touched her shoulder and said, "Alright, Hermione?"
Hermione nodded to Harry. "None of your business, Ronald," she hissed in his direction.
Draco raised an eyebrow and smirked at her disdain toward the redhead. He watched as they started to walk away before he called out to her. He stood when she turned around. "Thanks." It was worth his pride to see the slight smile and pink color on her cheeks in contrast to the bright red anger of her Weasley friend.
Draco stood on the terrace of the Great Hall, catching his breath. He had spent the last couple of hours fuming at the sight of Hermione in the arms of the Quidditch star. She looked stunning tonight in her muggle dress. He could hardly take his eyes off her, much to Pansy's distaste.
Pansy. He growled in his head. He shouldn't have asked her to come as his date; he despised her. She was vapid and only hung off of his arm because of his trust fund and his father's fortune once he stepped down from the head of the family. He couldn't keep track of the number of times Pansy mentioned the elegant jewelry she anticipated receiving once Draco turned 15. As if that will happen. He gripped the terrace's railing, trying to get a grip before re-entering the madness.
Slipping from his thoughts, he heard a deep Romanian accent offering to retrieve his companion a beverage. Then a delicate heel walked out onto the terrace, where Draco had slipped into the shadows. He watched Hermione walk slowly to the railing where he just stood. She smiled softly and smoothed her hair back into her jeweled clips. She looked poised and sophisticated and lost in her thoughts. Draco watched as the emotions passed over her face: adoration, happiness, confusion.
He stepped out from hiding, and she turned abruptly toward him. "Oh, Draco. I didn't see you there before." His heart sang that she was immediately at ease with seeing him. He watched as her worried brows relaxed, and she smoothed her gown.
"You look beautiful tonight." He was nearly whispering. Her eyebrows raised in surprise and a delicate pink showed on her cheeks. He took another step toward her.
"Thank you. It is a special night."
"Because you came with a Quidditch star?" He thought he had kept the jealousy from his voice, but her smirk told him otherwise.
"Victor is hardly my type." She leaned against the railing. "But he asked first."
"I'm surprised you're not more choosy with your dates." He leaned against the rail next to her. This was the longest they had spoken in three and a half years of attending school together.
Hermione laughed out loud. "Oh, I am very choosy. But who will say 'no' to a famous quidditch star?" He smiled uncharacteristically at the joy that danced in her eyes.
He reached up and tucked a piece of hair behind her ear, letting his fingers trace the side of her neck. He paused with his fingers against her pulse, contemplating if he had enough courage to kiss her when she confidently leaned toward him and pressed her lips to his. It felt like he was home. He wrapped his arm around her tiny waist and pulled her body flush against his without much thought. He was barely keeping his control when she whimpered into his lips, wrapping her arms around his neck. He tightened his grip around her, afraid that she would slip away or that it was all a dream. Her breathing was ragged when she pulled away from him. He pressed his forehead to hers. "This is a shy bit better than being hit by you."
She chuckled and put her hand to his cheek. "I.." She let out a low breath. "I can't explain this - need."
"I know," was all he said in return before kissing her one more time in the silence.
They never talked about the kisses after they happened. Instead, the two continued hating each other in public and being cordial when alone. They never kissed again; both were too afraid of what could happen. So when Umbridge started the Inquisitorial Squad, he joined up immediately - mostly to be ahead of the changing tides in the school. Hermione wasn't impressed.
He found her scouring over a defense against the dark arts book in the back of the library one night close to curfew. She snapped the book shut and hissed, "Going to run and tell your new best friend?"
He rolled his eyes. "Hardly. Who has time to walk all the way to the headmaster's office?" So he took a few confident steps toward her. She tensed immediately, unlike their typical private conversions. "What are you reading anyway?" She pulled the book closer to her. "Something to assist Potter and his band of baboons?"
Hermione huffed. Her heart screamed with anger at the invisible lines that divided them. They were so close, so connected, yet couldn't come together at all. "We are trying to learn something that isn't utter nonsense. There is a war coming."
Draco regarded her silently. He was surprised she had admitted they were meeting against Umbridge's rules. "Why do you think they are going to let children fight?" He took another step toward her, his fingers itching to play with her hair.
"Do you think the adults on Voldemort's side - your side - will keep us out of it? Harry Potter's best friends?" She saw him wince when she used Voldemort's real name. She felt a pull to get closer to him; it had been so many weeks since they were alone. She stepped closer to him, tentatively reaching out her hand, resting it close to him on the table. He eyed it carefully and inched his hand closer to her.
"She knows, Granger." His fingers brushed hers. "He's being watched very closely."
"What are you proposing I do about it, Malfoy?"
"Stop this." He hissed, stepping closer to her. He wanted to shake her, pull her away from this.
"You know I can't. You know I need to do this."
"You're going to get hurt." Finally, he indulged in her, weaving his fingers into her hair and pulling her to him.
"It will be worth it. He needs me," she whispered. Her eyes were glued to his, having long dropped the book to the table, her hands clung to his robes.
"I need you." Draco had no idea where this was coming from. Why did he open his heart to her? There was no turning back now.
"I know." He breathed life into her as he leaned down and captured her lips with his own.
His finger traced her silver scar from her collar bone to her navel. She smiled softly at him, basking in the glow from their lovemaking. "I'm fine."
"You almost died, Hermione." His voice was stern but caring.
"But I didn't." He sighed and rolled over to start pulling on his clothes. She sat up, covering herself with the sheet the Room of Requirements was gracious enough to supply them. "When will you tell me what is going on, Draco?"
"What do you mean?"
She touched his back, feeling him tense. "I know when you're hiding something from me."
"I can't get you involved." He took her hand, pulling her closer to him. Her chin landed on his shoulder. She kissed the space behind his ear. He hummed at attention. "You're in enough danger." Hermione knew that protesting wouldn't change anything. They discovered early on in their relationship that they couldn't change the forces around them. Dwelling on them only made their time together stressful. She was a muggle-born, Harry Potter's best friend, and Draco Malfoy's secret lover. There was no denying she was in danger. "I'm doing everything I can to make this war end faster."
"Let me help. I will go to Dumbledore."
"No!" Hermione pulled away immediately when he snapped at her. "I know what's best for us - I am doing everything I can." He sighed and pulled her to him, "Please. Just trust me."
Hermione nodded into her chest, trying to dry her eyes before he noticed she was crying. She hates how much pride he felt about her protection, but she couldn't argue - she just needed to trust in the midst of absolute chaos.
Dumbledore was dead. Draco ran away from the castle, hoping he would glimpse Hermione in the battle.
She strategically traveled back to Gryffindor Tower, looking for the white-blonde hair.
She made it to her dorm, grateful Ginny was already back. She found a rolled note on her pillow. "An owl dropped that off for you only 5 minutes ago," Ginny said, staring blankly at the ceiling. Neither girl was sure what to say to the other or what to do after the chaos of the last hour.
Hermione opened the note. "I'm doing everything I can. Please. Just trust me." Hermione curled on her bed and cried.
She was starving. She had never known hunger like this. She laid in her cot, trying not to focus on the empty pit that was her stomach. She closed her eyes and rubbed her white, tear-drop scar on her wrist.
She had no idea why but sometimes when she rubbed her scar, she swore she felt his heartbeat - almost as if her face was laying on it while lying in bed together. A ghost of a smile graced her lips as she remembered the last time they were together, laughing under the sheets and kissing until dawn.
Her memories were her only lifeline now. It was the only thing that was pulling her through this war. Even her hope for Harry wasn't enough for her to continue - just the hope, the unyielding desire to see him again.
Draco knew she was subconsciously channeling their bond, the one she knew nothing about. He willed his heart to be clear and calm as he watched Voldemort torture innocent muggles in front of him. No matter where she was, she needed hope. He needed it too. Feeling her reach out without understanding the power, her pure desire just to be held by him. It gave him hope for a future. It kept him moving on this path - no matter the cost.
The cost nearly became too much as he watched his aunt slowly carve into her skin, cursing her on his parlor floor. He could feel her pain through the soulmate bond that no one in the room, but himself, knew about. His eyes watered as he stared into her eyes, letting her know he was there. He was petrified, caught between exposing their love and ruining everything he'd been working for - for them - and watching his future die before his eyes.
For her part, Hermione refused to take her eyes off of him as she grew weak. She was confused as to why he didn't act - why he didn't overpower his aunt. Then she heard his words in his head, "Just trust me. Please." She chanted them like a mantra as Bellatrix carved into her arm. She stared deep into his stormy grey eyes, willing herself to focus on the depths and not the tears threatening to spill at any moment.
His mother touched his arm, trying to pull him away from the scene. But he was spellbound. He couldn't leave her. He couldn't leave Hermione alone with this madwoman. If she were going to die, he would be there with her when it happened. "Draco, let's leave now."
"No. Mother. No." His voice was quiet and hoarse, unlike Narcissa had ever heard. Her eyes darted between Hermione and her son, only then noticing how he rubbed his wrist as though it was the only thing to save him.
"Her, Draco?" Narcissa hissed. "Her?"
Draco gave the smallest of nods. Narcissa's pale hand squeezed his arm before she exited the room, hollering for one of the house-elves.
The crowd stood in a forced silence as Harry Potter lay dangling from Hagrid's arms. Draco watched as Hermione collapsed against Ron, his inner jealousy yearning to hold her during this time. Is Potter dead? What hope did they have now? Why did he go through everything he did for this?
"Draco," Voldemort called to him directly. He stood behind most of the crowd, only a few paces away from Hermione. "Come." He didn't move. His hands trembled with fear and adrenaline.
Then his mother. "Come, Draco." She had no idea who he was - who he wanted to be. She had no idea what he had been through the last year. Her hand stretched out to him. Her voice was calm, like when he had a tantrum as a child, and she would give in. His eyes darted to Hermione, where she stood wide-eyed. She was only now becoming aware that he was on the unexpected side of the line.
Everything inside of him told him to go. Just take one foot and put it in front of the other to be by your mother's side. Then he felt this jolt of something he had never felt before; it was courage. "No," Draco said confidently. "I'm exactly where I need to be." It must have been the soulbond because the bravery coursing through his veins was so foreign to him it burned.
A ghost of a smile played on Hermione's lips. Next to the dusty, wet stained cheeks, it looked as queer as Draco felt. His heart leaped at the ability to make her smile, even now. The world around them was collapsing; people were yelling and screaming as Voldemort lost control of the group. Draco barely heard any of it, unwilling to let Hermione lose eye contact. It was the only breath of life he had felt since she escaped the Manor nearly a month ago. Now she was here, far too thin but alive.
Then, Harry Potter jumped from Hagrid's arms, and the two were thrust into battle again.
In front of Hermione, the sun was rising. She had never felt exhaustion like this before, where she couldn't think or move or even be. She was tired. She had no idea what to do, where to go, who to speak to. She felt every emotion: relief, joy, fear, confusion, love, hope. It was all there. For once in her life, she didn't know how to reconcile it.
She heard footsteps behind her and knew it was Draco. She smiled softly to herself as he sat beside her. She felt his eyes on her, but instead of looking at him, she placed her head on his shoulder.
"You don't smell the same."
He snorted. "The smell of my soap may only be good for 12 hours of ruthless dueling, not 24." He felt her eyes shift as she smiled at his sarcasm. "How'd you know it was me and not your redheaded goon?"
"Let's not do that now." She sighed. "I felt it. I felt you." She weaved her hand under his arm, resting on his knee, and held his hand. Warmth spread through her, like all the happiness in the world had just filled her. She looked down at their hands. Her teardrop scar glowed orange and connected to a nearly identical version of her mark on Draco's wrist.
She laughed. "Of course."
"You aren't surprised?" Draco's hand tightened around hers.
"No." She pulled her head back to look into his eyes. "You knew? For how long?"
"Our first potions class in First Year," he whispered.
She rolled her eyes. "You know. If you had told me, things might have been easier."
Draco shifted, releasing her hand and cradling her face instead. "Nothing about this journey was going to be easy. We were like Romeo and Juliet. I was determined to make sure neither of us ended the same way they did." Tears slipped from Hermione's eyes. "You are my other half. I may have been able to live without you, but I wasn't going to, Hermione. I needed us both to survive."
"Oh, Draco." She leaned toward him and kissed him slow and sweet. "What did you do?"
The months that followed weren't easy for them either, except they were in it together. The Aurors didn't let the Malfoys leave Hogwarts on their own accord. Then, with Hermione in a rage that confused everyone except Draco and Narcissa, the three blondes were carted off to Azkaban to await investigation and trial.
It didn't take long for Ron to demand an explanation for her anger surrounding Draco's arrest. She had to explain her lies to Harry, Ron, and Ginny over the last several years. Harry, silent for most of the explanation, had his own story to tell when she was finished. He admitted that he knew about their relationship, albeit not that they were soul mates. "He left that part out." Harry rubbed his scar out of habit as he contemplated the new information.
Harry told them all about how Draco came to him in 5th year and started feeding him intel. "He tried to stop me from going to save Sirius. He knew it was a false vision." Harry choked up in his regret but forged on in the story. Hermione listened to the plans that Harry and Draco created in secret to push the war in a direction that was their own - not Voldemort's and not Dumbledore's.
"You planned Dumbledore's death?"
Harry shook his head. "No, we capitalized on an existing problem."
He explained that Narcissa was the one who called Dobby to the Manor that day they were captured. Tears flooded Hermione's eyes, remembering the pain she felt from the knife and Draco's heart that day.
Harry admitted he only knew the cup was in Bellatrix's vault because Draco confirmed it with Narcissa. And Draco purposefully let Harry leave the Manor with all of their wands.
"He helped us every step of the way. He is innocent." Hermione couldn't tell you who in the group said it, but they all knew it to be true, as much as Ron wanted to deny it.
Hermione used all of her savings to ensure that the Malfoys got the legal assistance they deserved and that she could travel to visit Draco in prison as often as allowed. But, of course, it was a temporary problem because the minute Draco was exonerated, six months, 14 days, and 12 hours after first entering Azkaban, he paid Hermione back in full.
Then, he promptly married her. Sometimes they talk about having a big wedding and a celebration, but mainly it's quickly forgotten. The simple ceremony in a wizard chapel outside Essex did them just fine. Their closest friends and family watched as they said their vows, bonding their lives together and forever sealing their fates and hearts.
Hermione could scarcely believe where they were, only a year past their wedding and not even two years from the fall of Voldemort. She lay on the grass beside the pond behind the Burrow with her head in the lap of her adoring husband. His hand softly caressed her growing abdomen, and he lazily announced a potential name every now and again. Voldemort was dead. They were together. And their future was laid out in front of them, without any obstacles, only waiting to be discovered.
