authorsnotes: here we go
buckle up for this one
songrecs: me and the devil - soap&skin (I highly recommend the video: 'The Line of Malfoys || Me and the Devil' by Wintertsmith, it is brilliant).
She'd be lying to say she wasn't scared.
Hermione Granger is a rational person, she is logical, almost to a fault. She thinks things through, if she is going to break school rules she ensures she isn't caught, she double checks every essay she hands in for mistakes (and never finds them), she is a good girl, she works hard, she prepares, she does.
And yet, there is nothing that can prepare her for this, she is only left with the cold hard, terrifying facts. Nothing that can prepare her.
Tonight, Draco Malfoy, who she has been soul-bonded to for five weeks now, will transform into a werewolf, he will transform for the first time since they have been soul-bonded, and they have no idea what that will mean for her.
What it will do to her.
Nothing.
There is no literature on this, they hadn't seen a single reference, Greyback hadn't told Malfoy a thing, they were completely blind.
When they'd parted that evening, Malfoy had been shaking.
"Promise me you'll keep yourself safe" He'd whispered, and despite all they'd been through, the words he'd said to her, the promises, she'd never seen him so vulnerable, his eyes wide, no gold, just the Malfoy grey, clouded with fear.
Her own reflected his, and she clutched his hands to stop his and hers shaking, squeezing so tightly they went pink. Malfoy didn't flinch, neither had she.
"I promise" She'd said, this was no time for levity, instead she just managed a sad smile, "I'll be in the library, and then when you come back, I'll be at the Prefects Bathroom, we'll debrief"
It sounded formal, but she was nervous, Malfoy had struck down any barriers though, she'd gasped as in a very uncharacteristic Malfoy move, he'd clasped the back of her neck, brought his forehead to hers, and breathed her in.
Like he was trying to fucking inhale her.
She'd be willingly consumed.
They'd held onto one another, eyes shut, and then before she could open them Malfoy tore away, and she let him go.
And now, night was coming, the moon rapidly readying to rise in the sky, and they were parted, and it felt wrong.
Harry and Ron, as much as they hated the situation, had offered to keep her company, Ron had even swallowed his pride and offered his ear to talk about Malfoy, Harry had winced and done the same, and she'd pulled them into such a crushing hug and only released them when tears threatened before shaking it off, claiming she was going to spend the night distracted in the library, shooed them off to bed as they had early Quidditch practice, and promised she'd be fine.
And yet, she was now in the library, warded, silenced, hiding in the back of the stacks, near a window to keep an eye, as moonrise approached, most in the Castle would be asleep or enjoying their Friday night now, but she'd never felt so exhausted, and so awake.
Her bones itched, her head ached, and something in her chest heaved; was that the effect of being apart from Malfoy? (though it had only been a few hours), was it the effect of the moon racing towards Malfoy and by extension her? Or was it her nerves? She had no idea, and when Hermione didn't know something, and couldn't know it, she felt for sure like she might go mad.
She swished her wand, the time illuminating infront of her; 11:35pm. The promise of the moon drew closer and closer, she could see it in the window, rising higher and higher, not quite at its peak yet, but getting there.
She felt her hands shaking as she cancelled the spell. What was to become of her?
And even more terrifying, she was more focused on her fear for Malfoy … for Draco, what would he suffer tonight? He'd never spoken about his transformations, but she knew this would be only his fourth. What torture would tonight be for him, with the added anxiety of what it would do to her?
She'd seen the gouges in the wall of the Shrieking Shack, the blood splatter, the manacles, she doesn't remotely understand what tonight will be like for him, but it frightens her, no worse, it horrifies her.
She wanted nothing more than to go to him, even though she knew that was impossible.
She didn't realise, that was the ache in her chest; longing, longing for Draco, longing to be by his side.
The moon promised torture, it would have it.
And it was coming.
He had never hated himself more.
Even when he'd arrived home, 2nd in his studies behind a muggleborn, and his Father had been so disappointed, Draco he'd cried, promised to do better, but had always come up short. Even then.
Even when his Father had gone to Azkaban and Malloy had held his Mother as she wept and had been utterly powerless to do anything, anything. Even then.
Even when he'd been turned into a half-breed, branded, and given a Master. Even when he'd felt the stain of dark magic and lycanthropy crawling through his veins. Had near choked on it, vomited all over the floor after being bitten and heard his Mothers distant screams. As he had screamed into his pillow surrounded by silencing charms, as Greyback, horrifyingly kindly and calmly had explained what would happen next. Even then.
Even the first time he'd turned. The pain, the confusion, his body shifting into a state it shouldn't. The awareness had felt like a curse, to know what was happening to him, he'd almost wished he'd gone rabid. As he'd turned, bones crunching, spine snapping, all of it, to turn onto a silver wolf, only second in size to Greyback, had seen the glint in the Packmasters eye. Even then.
None of it even compared to how much he hated himself now.
Even when he'd known on the train. Had seen the spark they had erupted between them, threatening to engulf them. Had felt the voice shrieking in his head that this was it. Had caught Granger in his arms and resisted the urge to burrow his nose and teeth into her neck. Had realised they were tied together forever. Had gone from 'I and me' to 'her and us', even then.
None of it compared.
For he knew what was to come for him, but he was blind as to what that meant for her. He would have gladly gone rabid, felt the pain of a hundred transformations to protect her from the slightest inch of pain, would have sacrificed himself on that alter to keep her safe.
But they were both running blind.
Protect.
The voice that had wormed its way inside his brain echoed, and he near growled, as he sat in the ruins of the Shrieking Shack, manacled by the wrist, he did growl as it spoke again.
Protect.
Of course, he fucking would, he'd been given no choice in that, but worse, he didn't even care that it wasn't his choice, not anymore. He'd protect Granger with his life and every other life on this Earth, he would protect her over all else, tonight, he just didn't know how to.
Protect.
He sat, manacled, hands screwed into fists, he glanced to the side, the dusty windows of the Shrieking Shack cleaned so he could see his doom hurtling to him, the moon was not at its apex, not yet.
But it would, it was inevitable as death, and then they would know, know what it all meant, and they would weather it, they would have to … together.
He longed for morning, he longed for Hermione.
The second the moon reached the very top of the sky, she knew.
A gasp tore from her throat, against her will, against her reason, she bolted up, stood, and turned to face the window.
For the past half an hour she'd been reading through one of the dark creature texts again, smothered under silencing charms, tapping her foot against the side of the desk, desperately trying to distract herself, but there was no distraction now, as she looked out of the large window pane and could see the moon high in the sky, at its apex.
Next came a scream, inside of her own head, and she clapped her hands over her ears, it wasn't rational, but the sound was white hot in her mind, threatening to ground down her brain until it spilled out of her ears if it continued. Another scream then, more of a whine even, and she fell to her knees.
But she forced herself back up before she could stutter, and then like someone was controlling her, she went back to the window.
It was a clear night sky, the moon didn't need to break through the clouds, it was clear as day with each inch it had gained, she had followed most of it, had seen it climb bit by bit, and now there it sat, mocking her, mocking them.
Draco.
She needed to be with him, she felt it like a thrum in her heart, not a controlling hand, but like a desire she knew she wouldn't be able to smother. She knew it was foolish, knew if he turned, if he went feral, those manacles wouldn't be enough, only the magic Dumbledore layered on the shack might stop him, and even then, he'd likely tear into the forest and run throughout the night.
She remembered another time she'd been in the forest, remembered running from another wolf, the fear, the terror, Harry shaking as he enveloped her in his arms, putting his body between her and Professor Lupins, both so sure they'd die, how she'd whimpered, so scared, and now she was contemplating putting herself at risk like that again.
Only she wasn't contemplating it, no, she was stepping towards the window, and pushing open the pane, standing on her chair, and looking out into the night.
A layer of mist danced across the ground, the moon continued to stare at her, and she felt that thrum in her chest, like a physical ache that threatened to crack her open, and she knew she couldn't ignore it.
She tried to rationalise it to herself for a second, that she could stand at the edge of the shack, that he wouldn't be fully transformed yet, that he'd taken a wolfsbane potion and likely wouldn't go rabid, that surely even when a wolf he couldn't hurt her due to the soulbond? Surely?
She rationalised it for about a minute, and that was enough, even if she didn't fully believe herself, she was stepping across the chair onto the window frame, a little crazed herself, but the ache in her chest almost spoke to her; there was no time, and this was the quickest way.
And so, she stepped into the air, wand in hand, making her way, her way to him.
Thankfully she wasn't so out of her mind she didn't know a cushioning charm, and though it was a little heavy and she landed with a wince, in an instant she was straightening up, and wand in hand, made her way to the Shrieking Shack.
If she'd have stopped for a minute, she'd have thought this through, thought about how the Castle Doors were locked now, and how would she get back in? She had to wave her wand to close the window behind her so Madam Prince wouldn't notice she was gone. Would she climb back? She'd have stopped and considered how much trouble she'd be in if caught, would think how furious Malfoy would be if he knew what she was doing.
Would think how dangerous this was.
But then she was Hermione Granger, Harry Potter's best friend, her, Harry and Ron had often ran headfirst into danger without thought, they were Gryffindors after all.
And so here she was, only this time she was alone.
But she wasn't? Was she, as she ran down the marked path to the Whomping Willow, she had Draco.
Another scream echoed in her head, and she quickened her pace.
Foolish or not she would go to him, she had to. There was no choice left, only that never ending ache, her hands shaking, eyes wide, tears slipping down her cheeks, her body not even noticing the freezing Scottish air, her cheeks paling, as she ran and ran, not tiring, barely pausing not wave her wand to levitate a stick to stop the Willow.
She didn't pause either before hurrying into the tunnel, not for a second.
Part of her was terrified, another urged on by that ache, but there was smaller part, one she barely even recognised, that told her it would be okay, how could it not be? Draco would never hurt her, she trusted him, despite it all, she trusted him with her life, her soul knew he was safe.
Wizard or wolf, he was Draco, his soul was hers.
'Whatever souls are made of, his and mine are the same'
Bronte … she'd always put stock in literature.
And so she continues to hurry, down the tunnel, she can smell blood on the air she is sure, or perhaps she is imagining it, maybe it's the drip of it from where her fingernails have dug so hard into her palm it is trickling down her arm, she doesn't care, she only cares about finding him.
And find him she does …
And he is fine.
Sat, manacled, his wand she can see poking out of his pocket, he doesn't read, or seem distracted, he glances at the moon over and over, seems tense, and then turns his head as she steps into the room, and his eyes widen.
But there is no anger, only longing, it mirrors her.
"Hermione you can't be here" But he doesn't seem angry, doesn't scold her for putting herself in danger, doesn't try to yell at her to get out, "You need to leave"
"No I don't" She insists, for she knows if the transformation hasn't started yet he might be spared it, he might not transform, and so she steps forward again, Malfoy flinches, stands, the manacles sliding up the wall with him, steps back, but she just steps forward again.
"You can't be here" He repeats, scared she can see, but the longing is so powerful she is propelled forward, he looks agitated like her, she wonders if he burns as she does, deep in her chest, like someone is squeezing her heart … or her soul. "It's too dangerous"
"I'm never in danger with you" She insists, she knows its true, she knows it to her bones, she steps forward again. "Am I?"
"Never" He speaks it so quickly, so fiercely, if she had ever been in doubt, she isn't now.
"I'm not leaving" Her eyes widen as she takes another step forward, and realises she almost feels drunk, with longing, with need, and she realises what it is, it isn't just the need to see Draco, to see he's safe, not in pain, that those horrible screams weren't his, there is something else to it, something else to all of this. "Fuck"
"Come here" The opposite of anything she'd expected of him, but the second he says it, she almost trips forward, he gathers her in his arms, and any thought, any lingering inch she had that might leave for her own safety, her own wellbeing, vanishes.
Any hint that Malfoy might give to get her to leave, to protect her for her own good, is erased.
There is none of that now, as they fall into one another, and Malfoy glows now, pure gold.
So does she.
Their lips meet and they are lost.
His hands are in her hair, pulling her as close as she can possibly be, hers are at his neck, her fingernails digging into his skin, he licks and sucks at her neck, the skin blossoming purple over and over.
They are practically feral.
And soon enough it goes further than anything they'd had, anything they've done.
He is tearing at her clothes, ripping away her shirt, her school skirt, and she is pulling at his trousers, buttons scatter across the room as she rips his shirt in half, and then he's boosting her into his arms, slamming her back against the wall, his lips find hers again, he kisses her over and over, and she moans so loudly she's sure it eclipses the screams she heard earlier.
She is just thankful the Shrieking Shack is under silencing charms.
"Draco" She moans against him, as he pushes her underwear to one side, too inpatient to get it off, he shoves his boxers down, only then she pauses, just for a second, pulls his neck, so his gaze meets hers…
His golden gaze.
"I'm a virgin" She whispers, and his eyes widen, but it changes nothing, they both know that. This is set now.
"I'll never hurt you" He promises, she nods, she knows that, believes it as if it were gospel, and then, and then, and then…
There is pain at first…
But it is soon eclipsed by the most surreal pleasure she has ever known.
They have ever known.
For as he enters her, his fingers flicking over her little knub, her wetness enveloping him, as he gently slowly enters her, pushing her first into the wall, and then they slide to the floor, she straddles him and he drives into her over and over again, slow and gentle at first, and then harder, faster, bruising her hips, her fingers scratching a lattice over his back, it is perfection, pure perfection.
They glow so brightly, if anyone were to look on the Shack, they'd wonder why the ghosts are now illuminating it.
It is feral, the love making they do that night, the fucking, they never tire, never faulter, over, and over he brings her to such a peak of pleasure she thinks it cannot be topped, and then he does, driving her to new heights. He spends himself into her over and over, buries his face into her neck (never bites down, he keeps his had enough to know that), and groans into her, as they become one.
They are one.
One soul.
Come morning, the Shrieking Shack is more of a wreckage, he'd torn chunks of wood out of the walls, they lie in the pile of their torn clothes, so wrapped around one another in their nakedness they could not be any closer.
It is only as morning winks through the windows, as the sun replaces the moon, they wake, their eyes widening as they blink them open, and realise what they had done.
"Hermione…" He says, no Granger now, "You're glowing" He says, "Gold"
"So are you" She whispers, he always had, but it had always been tinged with silver, now it is gold. "And your … your eyes" Still golden, no flicker, no edge of grey, just gold.
"What did we do?" She whispers, they have no idea, but if they weren't bound completely and utterly, never for another, never for anything but this, they most certainly are now.
What did they do?
I planned to split this chapter but I couldn't cliffhanger this
so here we go, it is far more complex than it looks (somehow?), and so it will all unfold soon
and next chapter some new ... shall we say 'interested parties' will get involved
I promise to update soon...