It was during sixth year that he initially felt the pull. But he was too busy dodging Potter's terrible spying attempts, trying to be a good Death Eater, and making his own assassination plots to pay it much mind.
Seventh Year he dismissed it. He knew he wasn't worthy of the gift that magic would be presenting to him if he believed what he was feeling to be true. Even if he hadn't actually committed murder, surely he'd destroyed his soul. It couldn't be mated with another; at least not anymore.
But then there was Eighth Year.
And he just knew, inexplicably, that she was her. And he felt like a fool. He wasn't angry with her, but it was just so obvious.
He found her down by the lake in the starlight almost as if she was basking in it. And despite the deeply intimate connection he felt with her, it seemed like too much to approach her in that moment, and so he walked away. Until he couldn't ignore the pull any longer.
"I had no right to claim him, I knew it. But in a solitary life, there are rare moments when another soul dips near yours, as stars once a year brush the earth. Such a constellation he was to me." ― Madeline Miller
Hermione was seated on the abandoned west tower of Hogwarts castle, alternatively looking out over the grounds and up at the stars. She'd become very familiar with the stars over the past year and they brought her comfort. Living on the run, the night sky had been one of the few things in her life that was dependable.
She felt as at ease in this portion of the castle as she ever could be these days because the entire west wing of the building was abandoned, and for once that had nothing to do with the war. It had fallen into disuse over the centuries as the population of students enrolled in the school continued to shrink because less and less children became eligible to attend. Hermione didn't understand how the blood purists managed to delude themselves into believing they weren't inbreeding themselves into extinction.
But that was a problem that felt too big to even begin contemplating at the moment. Hermione was already so tired.
And as she thought about this she found herself realizing that she wished she wasn't alone, that she had somebody to lean on; she would have even welcomed having somebody lean on her in return. She didn't need to be taken care of, but she longed for understanding and support.
She was alone a lot these days, even in crowded rooms. Much of it was by choice. She'd needed space to process all the loss and the heartbreak. She would always have Harry and Ron, of course, but there was a little bit too much shared pain between them for her to lean on them right now.
And then, like a bad joke, the next night he appeared. An entire castle and he picked her private spot.
"Granger." There was no inflection at all in his voice.
"Malfoy." She couldn't bring herself to tell him to go away, even just that little bit of conflict felt like far too much to handle at the moment. But she could have remained silent. It would be a long time before she understood what made her say: "You can sit if you want. This is a good place to think."
He made a small sound at the back of his throat. "I'm doing everything I can to figure out how not to think."
She just nodded. "It's also a good place to count the stars." There was a long pause but, finally, she heard him move, and then he sat down next to her. He maintained a few feet between them but he was close enough that she could see him in her periphery without having to turn her head.
And then they just sat there, engulfed in silence.
It went on like that for two weeks, every evening she arrived first. But every evening he sat a little closer to her until it became easy to study his appearance without being obvious. At least she hoped she wasn't being obvious, he didn't seem to notice.
He looked different here with her than he did in class. More casual, less guarded. Amongst the general population of the school he held himself like he was poised to fend off an attack, and Hermione thought that he probably was. But he was always perfectly coiffed.
He let himself be a little rumpled for their evenings, as she'd begun to think of them, occasionally his hair could have rivaled Harry's for messiness and he always wore, curiously, either a Slytherin of Falmouth Falcons t-shirt, and a pair of flannel pajama bottoms. He even had a red pair.
It took her most of those two weeks to work up the courage to ask him about that, because thus far, while they sometimes greeted or bid each other good night, other than that they never talked.
"Okay," she finally blurted one night when she could no longer suppress her curiosity. "I have to ask you something."
He just snickered. She actually took that as a good sign.
"Your pajamas seem very...muggle."
"That's not a question."
Hermione stopped herself from asking him how much of himself was bluster because that answer was so clearly a diversion. "Where did you get them?"
He shrugged. "There was a guy in the year above me, a half-blood," he turned to Hermione, "Robert Bradley?" He arched an eyebrow in question and Hermione just nodded. She remembered him, she hadn't known that he was a half-blood but the blood statuses of the members of Slytherin House were actually much more diverse than advertised. "He gave all of the upper years a pair for Christmas when I was in 5th year. He said the pajamas we were all wearing made us look like stuffy old men and that we could be proud of our heritage while also joining the 20th century."
That startled a laugh out of Hermione because she knew exactly what he meant. "And you wore them?"
"A small rebellion," he shrugged.
Hermione had to keep her jaw from dropping. Fifth Year. "And you liked them?" She asked to mask her reaction.
"They're comfortable."
She decided to let it go at that.
The next night he arrived carrying a thermos and Hermione cursed herself for not thinking of that. The nights had been turning colder and she had been keeping them warm with a jar of bluebell flames she was so famous for amongst her friends. But there was nothing like a hot drink. They sat in silence for a while before he unscrewed the top, and to her surprise, offered the thermos to her.
"Oh, thank you," she stuttered, reaching for it and taking a small sip. "Oh!" She exclaimed in surprise when a rich thick chocolate hit her tongue.
"Something wrong?" He asked, sounding truly alarmed.
"Not at all, I was just expecting tea."
"Do you not like hot chocolate?"
"No, I love it, and this is particularly good. Like I said, I was just surprised." She handed it back and watched with even more surprise as he took his own sip without hesitation, not even turning it around to ensure that he was drinking from the opposite side as her.
"The Hogwarts elves know exactly how I like it, they do it even better than the Malfoy elves."
Hermione squirmed uncomfortably at the mention of Malfoy elves. "Is that cinnamon I tasted?"
"Yeah," he nodded. "I practically lived on this stuff last year."
Hermione considered what to say to this, and memories jumped to the forefront of her mind: Remus and his kind smile, Remus who taught Harry to cast a patronus, Remus who always had a chocolate bar on hand. "Yeah. Chocolate's good for fighting demons."
He cleared his throat. "Yeah."
After that, instead of sitting side by side with their legs dangling over the edge of the parapet they sat facing each other, cross-legged, their knees nearly touching. And they started to talk.
Nothing serious at first: the assignments they were working on in various classes, their favorite subjects, why Hermione hated to fly and why Draco loved it. But then one night he asked about her parents, just a casual inquiry about what she liked to do when she was at home. She knew he wasn't trying to be cruel. In fact, she was certain he was trying to be thoughtful and communicate to her that he was willing to hear about the world that she came from. He had no idea the can of worms he inadvertently opened.
She burst into tears. She covered her face with her hands in an attempt to hide them, but there was no muffling her sobs. She felt a hand on her back patting her awkwardly for a few minutes and then, all of a sudden, arms around her waist and he was hauling her onto his lap. Her body felt limp and heavy, and she went without a fight.
Finally she found the wherewithal to wrap her arms around his neck and bury her face in his shoulder, breathing in the scent that had become familiar to her over the past weeks. It was clean and masculine and she realized that somewhere along the way, it had begun to make her feel safe.
She was embarrassed to pull away, but mostly she just didn't want to let him go. "Oh God," she muttered eventually, "I've totally soaked your shirt."
He said nothing, which was very uncharacteristic. She glanced up to see that he was staring at her chest. Some ingrained sense of propriety must have kicked in because she quickly pulled the sides of her robe closed; even as she noted she didn't actually mind him looking at her body like he might...desire her. She was wearing a shirt, after all, he hadn't actually seen anything inappropriate.
He didn't seem at all ashamed but slowly brought his eyes back to her face. "Do you want to talk about it?"
"No!" She answered automatically, surprised by the look of disappointment that crossed his face, even more surprised by how much that look upset her. "At least not right now."
He nodded and didn't press her, but every night after he insisted on walking her to Gryffindor Tower. She didn't think for a moment that one good look down her shirt had transfixed him. She wondered if feeling her body against him just made him fully recognize that she was human, and a woman at that.
She didn't fight his insistence at escorting her, as much as part of her wanted to. But she also knew it was foolish to refuse having another wand at her back, that she'd been foolish wandering empty corridors alone. She'd well and truly painted a target on her back over the years, a target many of her fellow students were all too happy to aim at. And, perhaps stupidly, she trusted Draco.
Draco.
Because that's who he was to her now.
On the fifth day that he walked her home she shoved a galleon into his hand. He smirked at her. "I've been stripped of a lot of things, love, but I'm not in need of galleons."
She rolled her eyes. "It's for communication. I know that you know how they work. I want you to tell me that you got back to your dorm safely. You're not the only one who worries. Don't worry, this one isn't connected to the rest of them, this is just for us."
To her surprise he didn't argue, simply kissed her forehead. "Thank you, goodnight." And, just as always, he refused to budge until she was inside the portrait hole and it had closed completely behind her.
She played with her own Galleon for almost twenty minutes before his message appeared: "Safe."
"Good," she responded, and then she buried herself under her covers and tried not to dwell on thoughts of him.
They started to talk. Really talk this time. She told him that she wasn't sure her parents would ever forgive her for altering their memories. He told her that he wasn't sure he could ever forgive his for failing to protect him.
By the time Sahmain rolled around, sitting on his lap had become normal, and she no longer looked to the stars for solace.
During November they began keeping a cache of pillows and blankets tucked away in the stairwell. Conjured items just couldn't compete with the real thing. They never progressed beyond heavy snogging- there was a smattering of freckles on her collar bone which he seemed particularly fascinated with and it drove her crazy for him to lave attention upon- but many nights they just held each other. Sometimes they spoke, others they just relished in the other's company. Hermione spent every day looking forward to those hours with Draco.
Perhaps it didn't make any sense, but they made her feel cleansed, and as his smile seemed to brighten every day, she could only hope that he felt the same way.
"So," he began, sneaking his hand under her pajama top and tracing patterns on her abdomen, "I was wondering if you would consider meeting my parents over the Yule break? I understand if you want to wait, but I thought it might be better to just get it over with. And Father might be stubborn, but once Mother sees how remarkable you are, I'm certain she'll be on our side."
Hermione froze. "Draco, what are you talking about?"
"Introducing you to my parents," he answered slowly, like he was talking to a small child.
"But why?" She asked, and it was his turn to freeze and she could tell immediately that he was upset.
She was utterly confused. They were friends, they sought a certain amount of physical and emotional comfort in each other. But outside of the west tower, they barely even acknowledged each other. Why did he want her to meet his parents?
"Well, ideally, I'd like my parents to get to know my witch before I marry her."
"Your what? Before you do what?" She squirmed around so that she was facing him, and he was looking at her oddly.
"Well I intended to ask you properly, after you met my parents and we went public. But of course I intend to marry my soul mate."
It was like being told she was a witch all over again. So true and yet so unbelievable, and given the wizard in question, she couldn't believe it.
She leapt from their blanket nest and pointed an accusing finger in his direction. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
"You! Why are you acting so shocked?!" He jumped up as well and pointed a finger in return. "You sent for me, you claimed me!"
"I did no such thing!"
"Really?" He challenged. "You've never performed a soul seeking ritual?"
Hermione opened her mouth to respond and closed it and fell back onto her bum.
It had been Third Year. A dare. Lavender and Parvati had been so keen and Hermione had considered the branch of Divination which was soul magic just as wooly as she had the rest of it. But Harry and Ron hadn't been speaking to her, so she really couldn't afford to alienate others, so she'd agreed to participate.
Lavender and Parvati had set up a lovely little ritual circle along the Black Lake and it had been fun. Like a slumber party. However, the other two girls had been deeply disappointed that nothing had appeared to them. So Hermione had kept quiet about the tiny dragon who'd briefly nuzzled her hand before disappearing.
She had thought very little of it at the time. Dismissed it like she did tea leaves and crystal balls.
But she knew a lot more about soul magic now, knew that it was very real.
"Why do you say that?" She asked, both intrigued and terrified.
He knelt down, and Hermione noted how careful he was, even though he was obviously furious. He reached out and tugged a little at her top. "Draco," he whispered, voice hoarse.
She looked down at her collarbone and had to concede that he was correct, her skin was adorned with the Draco constellation. That grouping of freckles he adored so much. She also knew they hadn't always been there.
"I thought you knew...I thought that was why."
"Why what?"
"Why you've been so receptive to me this year."
"I didn't know, Draco, I just liked you. It was a stupid thing I did with my roommates Third Year, I haven't even thought of it since."
He wiped his hand down his face. "That level of ritual magic is incredibly difficult for a witch that young to accomplish. I was drawn to you. Merlin, I think I've always been drawn to you. But it never occurred to me you actually performed the ritual that long ago. I'll leave you in peace, you don't deserve to be stuck with me just because you inadvertently called for me."
He stood abruptly and walked down the stairs. Hermione was too dumbfounded to follow. But the coin she'd taken to wearing on a chain around her neck to make sure she never missed a message from him heated an hour later: "Safe?"
"Safe," she responded.
Hermione tossed and turned. Her logical mind battled the magic running through her body; she should be able to make her own choices, magic could go to hell. But then another voice interrupted. It was Draco's, and he wondered why she was fighting so hard. Magic had given them a gift, why was she raging against it?
Against a man she already loved. What did it matter how they'd been brought together?
She braced herself before entering the Great Hall the next morning, holding her head high as she marched to the Slytherin table. She tucked herself against Draco who was sitting mostly isolated from the rest of his house as usual, and smiled up at him tentatively.
"Morning."
He hesitated only briefly. "Morning, would you like some hot chocolate?"
"That would be perfect."
A/N: I'm trying to tie up... well everything I have in the works. But in the meantime, this is a little something in celebration of Hemrione's birthday.