Summary:
He was the son of two ancient pure-blood lineages. A life of privilege practically written in the stars.
It was supposed to be easy
Now, with his father locked away, Lord Voldemort threatens all that Draco holds dear. Struggling with the manifestation of unexpected family magic and his morality, his impossible task is set.
Until a chance encounter in a haunted bathroom with Hermione Granger sets his life in an entirely new direction.
OR
Draco's family magic chooses Hermione Granger as The One.
Relevant Tags: bonding magic, Family Magic, The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Hogwarts Seventh Year, Hogwarts Era, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, HBP Canon Divergencegoes, full AU for DH, POV Draco Malfoy, POV Hermione Granger, Interlude POV, Hurt/Comfort, Jealousy, Possessive Draco Malfoy, Eventual mature sexual content, Illicit potions brewing, Occlumency (Harry Potter), Legilimency (Harry Potter), Study Group, magical research, Wards (Harry Potter), Vanishing Cabinets (Harry Potter), Room of Requirement, Slap Bracelets, and other Protean Charms, Questioning Dumbledore, Horcruxes, Horcrux Hunting, Inspired by Art
Not "technically" a soulmates au. This is bonding magic, but their connection is very special and unique to each other!
UPDATES monthly
there will be moments when
you will bloom fully and then
wilt, only to bloom again.
if we can learn anything from
flowers it is that resilience is born
even when we feel like we are
dying.
- rebirth by Alexandra Elle
Prologue
Hermione - October 1997
Hermione stood in the forest, wand drawn in fear, as the rain beat down, soaking her to the bone. The only thing keeping her from passing out from the cold was the adrenaline pumping through her. Harry stood at her side, with Ron facing them, his wand white-knuckle gripped, and in a stance like he was ready to start throwing hexes.
It had come to this. The anxiety and tension that had become omnipresent since they'd acquired the locket had tipped over the edge.
Hermione wasn't sure how the state of their friendship had gotten so bad. Or rather, things had been so bad already, she didn't see how they could possibly have gotten worse. That was her mistake. One of many, as it turned out.
Ron had been on his watch shift since lunch, while she and Harry continued to scour her books for anything that might give them a better sense of what to do next. The days and nights had begun to bleed together since they'd escaped the Ministry with the locket; Hermione was just so tired. She'd conjured up a small, green settee for their tent—Ron had returned from his watch to find her curled into Harry, one of his arms secured around her waist to hold her in place while they'd slept. It had been completely innocent; they were practically siblings, after all. Unfortunately, their friend had not seen it that way, despite how hard Harry tried to convince him.
The space between the two of them and Ron felt as though a chasm, dark and deep, had ripped the ground open to separate them. Ron was convinced that she had chosen Harry over him, as her friend, her partner! His unresolved feelings for her had risen to the surface again, drawn by the blasted Horcrux.
While Hermione loved Ron, it had never been in that way. The inkling of romantic emotions that might have been, had been thoroughly squashed by circumstance. She thought she'd made that quite apparent last year, considering what had happened. It was absurd, but the way Ron's face contorted in anger as he glared at them made it clear he thought otherwise. He looked feral and frightening in a way she'd never seen before. It terrified her.
"Ron, please!" she cried, wiping her rain-soaked hair away from her eyes. They needed to move again; they'd already been in this spot for too long. They didn't have time for this.
"No, 'Mione, Harry's been perfectly clear," Ron seethed, pointing his wand at Harry.
With his free hand, Harry slapped Ron's wand away and he began to pace, muttering under his breath. Hermione reached out to stop him, but Harry side-stepped around her. Releasing her breath, she turned back to Ron. He looked quite tragic standing there with water droplets hanging off his fringe.
"See, you don't need me. I'm just in the way."
It was true that since Ron had been splinched escaping the Ministry, she and Harry had spent most of their energy healing and caring for Ron. He was in no position to do much of anything helpful at that moment. But they were all in the same boat on that account. They didn't know where to go or what to do next. It didn't mean she wanted him to leave. Dumbledore had meant for them to do this together. She'd thought it mad, attempting to hunt Horcruxes on their own. With what they were facing now, her contempt for him over this impossible scheme grew by the second.
"Take it off!" Hermione begged, reaching out for the gold chain that peeked out of the edge of Ron's shirt. She knew this was that wretched Horcrux. They'd all been experiencing its effects since they'd obtained it. They'd worn it in shifts, none exceeding their set time limit until today.
Ron stepped away from her. "It doesn't make me feel anything that I wasn't already thinking. Just gives me clarity," he snarled. She shook her head, unable to hold back her tears any longer. They were stronger together; Harry needed them both.
Wet leaves squelched under Harry's pacing stride, each breath an angry exhalation, which abruptly stopped. "Then go!"
Hermione gasped, mouth falling open in shock. This couldn't be happening!
She grabbed Harry's wrist and yanked, hard. The ground splashed as he stumbled into her. "Harry, don't," she warned. Ron was already so consumed by the Horcrux, she knew he'd take anything they said literally.
Not bothering to unclasp the chain, Ron yanked the locket over his head, leaving a small abrasion on his cheek. He threw it to the ground and glowered at Hermione when her hand stretched out toward him again. Thunder rumbled in the background, and the wind began to pick up with a vengeance. Ron turned away from her.
Regaining her bearings, Hermione scrambled to pick up the locket. It was covered in mud and almost slipped through her fingers in her haste. The familiar feeling of despair and icy fingers grasping for something to destroy grew as she lifted it over her head. Hermione had a fleeting rumination on Death Eaters. Did the constant pulsing of their irrevocable connection to Voldemort deplete them of their own sense of self? Did it slowly drain them of who they really were? Who they were meant to be? Her last thoughts as she made contact with the Horcrux were wishing and hoping that Ron could break free from its hold now that it sang in her head. She loathed its malevolent voice.
You don't need them, Golden Girl. You're better than all of them.
Hermione reached for the rational part of herself. It lies, he lies. She'd seen how it tried to manipulate everyone it touched.
But I tell the truth too, Golden Girl.
Harry and Ron's yells echoed faintly through her Horcrux-addled mind. Then the crack of an apparition and her entire world collapsed onto itself. She yearned for the protective warmth of magic she'd become so accustomed to. Now everything was cold, dead. She was alone. Again.
You don't need them, Golden Girl.
She wanted to curl into a tiny ball and cry. Everyone left. The weight of her grief and insecurity staggered her. The human-sized hole in her heart expanded, trying to consume her. She wasn't sure if she could take it anymore. Wouldn't it be better to give in. Everyone was gone anyway.
I'll never leave you, Golden Girl. My Golden Girl.
The pain was sharp and almost sweet. She wanted to scream. I'm not your Golden Girl!
You'll always be my Golden Girl.
It was wrong, all wrong. This wasn't the voice she was so desperate to hear. She forced her brain to run through every herb she knew of alphabetically by taxonomy, an attempt to push the abomination down. All at once, the treacherous voice faded, and she could take a full breath again. The rain had finally stopped.
She saw Harry reach for her hand, taking it into his own. He looked exhausted, so full of pain and regret. She knew what came next.
"I'm so sorry, Hermione. Ron's gone."
She nodded. She'd hoped they were all stronger than the mangled shred of Tom Riddle's warped soul. She'd been wrong, and her error—or perhaps arrogance—had cost them.
You're strong enough. I'll make you stronger. We could be the perfect team.
Hermione took a deep breath and pressed the voice of Tom Riddle into the rotting, wooden barrel she had created for him. Safe in the arboretum she'd constructed in the vault of her mind.
Feeling secure in her ability to keep his spirit locked away, for the time being at least, she sighed heavily, then pulled out her wand and began breaking down their campsite. It was time to move on.
They moved around each other in silence, erasing all traces of their presence from the forest. In Hermione's peripheral vision, she noticed Harry wiping his eyes with his sleeves roughly, the guilt and self-loathing radiating off of him in waves. So much had happened between the three of them over the last year. She knew he felt responsible for Ron leaving, but he shouldn't.
No, there was only one person to blame.
Shrinking the tent down and levitating it into her bag, Hermione stepped into Harry's line of sight, stopping him with her hand on his shoulder.
"This isn't your fault, Harry. This is Voldemort's fault," she stated. He needed to believe that.
A cool sensation flooded Hermione's senses just as the protective wards around their camp popped. Her concentration slipped, the barrel containing the fractured soul began to rumble viciously.
"Quickly, Harry! Protego totalum! Muffiatio!" Her wand strokes were swift and precise, focusing on the area directly surrounding them.
Back to back, she could hear Harry recasting the protections as rapidly as possible. Hermione couldn't be sure what had just happened, but it was bad. Very bad. There wasn't enough time to run.
She and Harry continued to cast, but a much flimsier shield than they would typically have in place descended around their camp. She knew they couldn't be seen or heard, but the cool sensation itching along her skin brought to mind some type of tracking spell. She cast a quick diagnostic charm, and the wisp of red smoke confirmed her suspicion.
"What was that?" Harry asked in an unnecessary whisper.
"Tracker," she said and cast the same diagnostic charm on Harry, resulting in another wisp of red. It appeared to have been altered to catch everyone within proximity. "Shit! On both of us."
"His name?"
She nodded. "Must be."
The air filled with the cracking of apparition. The cloud cover made it too dark to see past the trees in front of them but there must have been at least five Snatchers approaching them from the woods. Hermione squinted her eyes and looked for movement. As her eyes scanned the tree line she felt the wind stir around them, little eddies of leaves crackling through the air. It started small and built, the wind rushing around them, bringing forth the scent of decaying earth and ozone from the recent rain. It was then that she saw it, a trailing line of black smoke disappearing into the tree line followed by a deafening whorl of wind that was infinitely more terrifying than the whip crack of normal apparition. A Death Eater was with the Snatchers.
"What do we do now?" Harry asked as another figure appeared in a silent burst of black that dissipated to reveal a large figure.
Hermione's whole body went rigid, and terror filled her. Greyback.
She began to move, but the wet ground splattered onto the scattered leaves around them. Harry grabbed her wrist and shook his head once. Small flashes of light began hitting the dome of magic that surrounded them. Whoever else was out there was attempting to break their wards. Not knowing how powerful or which spell was being used, they couldn't move without risking being heard. They were completely trapped.
A scant few meters away, the werewolf cocked his head and tilted it back, inhaling deeply. Harry turned to her; eyes wide with the same fear that froze her in place. They couldn't hear what was being said, but it was clear that Greyback could sense them, smell them if Hermione had to guess. He'd be able to pinpoint precisely where they stood.
A few more cracks of apparition could be heard deeper in the woods, but Hermione's attention was drawn to the figure emerging from the shadows. Where Greyback was large and hulking, this person was tall, lithe, and almost graceful, clad in the dark robes and silver mask of a Death Eater. He joined Greyback at the edge of their hasty protections, turned toward them, and the air shivered with familiar magic. She frowned at the recognition. He turned to Greyback and shook his head.
Hermione took in the appearance of the Death Eater. She reached for the residual magic floating through the air, let it swirl around her. The stirring sensation felt so familiar, but the context was wrong. It couldn't be—
"What do you think?"
Her racing heart stuttered, and Hermione tried to swallow back the bitter taste of adrenaline. "I don't know, Harry, but if we try to apparate, I think they'll be able to follow us." She considered the group of Snatchers who had appeared at the edge of their camp. Most were a little older than she and Harry, but all looked fit and mean. "I don't think outrunning them is an option either. We're sitting ducks while their Death Eater figures out how to break our wards," she said; her throat tightened and stung with the threat of tears.
Harry wrapped his arms around her. "This isn't the end. We'll figure something out. Fuck if I know what, but this is not how this story ends."
She tightened her grip on him, burying her face in his shoulder for a moment, then pulled back with a deep breath. It was too much to hope. She focused on the situation instead of the taste of his magic floating through the air as another spell was cast.
"Okay. We're going to be captured. I don't think we can avoid it. We need to be harder to identify." She held her wand aloft and moved her hand in the delicate patterns needed for a glamorie. Before her eyes, Harry's appearance shifted, eyes darkening, hair lightening, and growing longer. "I can't hide the scar, but we can obscure it with your hair."
"Hermione, what about you? I can't do a glamorie like that."
She pointed her wand at her hair and concentrated as best she could. She'd never gotten very adept at hair charms, but even a little less bushy would help. Less 'expansive.'
"Well?" she asked.
Harry shook his head. "If any of them know you…"
"We'll just have to hope they don't." Or that only one of them does.
The magic around them swelled, and Hermione knew what was coming. She could hear Tom screaming in his prison deep within her mind, but she kept him locked away. They only had one chance to get this right.
"Get ready, Harry," she whispered.
The wards popped, and everything went dark. Within seconds, strong arms wrapped around Hermione, tearing her away from Harry. She kicked and screamed, trying to jam her elbows into her captor's ribs or her heel into his instep. But he was too much bigger, too much stronger. She still couldn't see anything, but the raucous laughter of the Snatchers began to diminish.
That same familiar stirring sensation began to swirl around her, giving her strength to keep fighting, to not give in.
Her captor's grip tightened painfully, and warm breath tickled her ear. "Granger, stop! It's me."
A shiver of recognition ran down her spine at the sound of this voice.
"Malfoy?"
"Hermione." His voice was a caress. Her magical signature shifted for the first time in months. Warmth, and love, and strength enveloped her as she felt him inhale deeply.
Her magic rose up and merged with his, filling all the cracks and fissures that his absence had created. Confusion, shock and an immense amount of relief coursed through her veins. She breathed in his familiar scent and relaxed into his embrace. This was real. He was real. He'd found her.
"Draco."
Chapter 1 Under Pressure
Draco - October 1996
One year earlier…
Sixth year was meant to be easy.
Draco had been at the top of the class or would have been if a certain maddening swot wasn't in the picture. He'd been made a prefect for Slytherin and even a high-ranking member of the Inquisitorial Squad by that toad of a woman last year.
And it was all ruined by those god damned Gryffindors. Led, of course, by the Golden Boy himself, Harry fucking Potter.
Then, over the summer, his father was sent to Azkaban. The Dark Lord had taken the opportunity to commandeer Malfoy Manor, where he now reigned over the Death Eaters from Draco's living room. As punishment for his father's mistakes, Draco's mother was being held captive in her own rooms as a bargaining chip, making sure Draco did his new master's bidding.
Now, instead of basking in the heady sensation of power, he was spending all his free time in front of a bloody broken cabinet! The Dark Mark itched under his pressed sleeve at the thought of it all.
As if that wasn't enough of a burden, the day he'd turned sixteen, Draco had been informed that his mother, per his father's instructions, was to start looking into a marriage contract. As if he was ready to select a wife!
The insane idea of an arranged marriage was never one he'd been on board with. The summer before, he'd spent an entire afternoon in his father's study presenting him with all the reasons why he should delay the family trying to negotiate a marriage contract for him. His father had reluctantly agreed that the courtship rituals could become a distraction to his studies. Ultimately, Lucius had decided to delay any betrothal until Draco had left school. But, apparently, that was then.
Now, Draco couldn't imagine what had changed, other than his father's ability to grasp reality. As if any sane witch would ever take to his courting them now!
'Do wear the emerald shirt, darling husband; it hides that wretched tattoo so much better.' Bloody demented! All of it!
It was meant to be easy.
His lamenting was interrupted by the loud bang that emanated from the front row, snapping him back into the Dungeon. Potions was one of the few classes he'd at least attempted to remain coherent in, for the most part. Theodore Nott snickered next to him.
"Ah, Ms. Granger." Professor Slughorn peered down into the cauldron and gave it a tut. "It would appear you have added the sloth brain a touch too soon. We're brewing Draught of Living Death, after all, not a memory potion. I seem to recall you making a similar mistake last time. Perhaps you can ask Mr. Potter for some pointers on the proper way to measure time while stirring."
The horrified look on Granger's face was priceless. The inelegant scoff she let out as the old geezer moved to the next table was icing on the cake. Had he not felt so weighed down by all the pressure he was under, the entire ordeal would have made his morning.
Instead, he just rolled his eyes as Theo nudged him and leaned in. "Looks like Granger's about to go off on one," he murmured. "I'd pay one hundred galleons to see her load off on Old Sluggy."
"Poor codger wouldn't know what hit him," he mumbled, refocusing back on his own cauldron in front of him. Subtly raising a hand to touch his nose, he could still remember the feel of the sting from her right hook. He'd never admit it to anyone, but despite the pain, he'd been mildly impressed.
Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Granger whisper shouting at a very nervous looking Potter, her finger pointing emphatically at his potions book.
It was rather odd that someone like Potter could outsmart, well, anyone in their year. He wasn't known to be an exceptional student. Draco had always assumed it was his last name that got Potter his average marks and leniency when it came to his schooling.
But he's never been better than me in school. Father would never let me hear the end of it.
Thinking of the elder Malfoy got his blood boiling. His family wouldn't be in this mess with The Dark Lord if his father wasn't imprisoned in that wretched place. And If it wasn't for that bloody half-wit (who was currently shielding himself with his arm from Granger's smacking with her rolled parchment), his father would have never been caught!
Satisfied with his potion, he grabbed one of the vials between his cauldron and Theo's and filled it to the brim. As instructed, he took it up to Slughorn's desk, gaining the Professor's silent nod of approval before handing it in.
Returning to his workstation, he noticed Granger's hair had tripled in size. If the smell that emitted from her cauldron was any indication, she'd screwed up even worse than her prior attempt. The evident frustration on her face backed up his conclusion.
"Honestly, Harry. It's as if you're not reading from the same book!" he heard her hiss at Potter, who appeared to be ignoring her, his nose almost touching the page of text. "You're meant to cut the Sopophorous Bean before adding it in, Harry. Otherwise, it won't—wait! Stop, stop!"
She reached for Potter's arm, but he lifted it away quick enough for her to miss. "Don't you dare put them in yet–what are you doing!" Draco snorted at her look of dismay as he approached the pair. "Harry James Potter, you hand over that book immediately so I can see exactly what it says!"
Her voice had gone up an octave, loud enough that the other students began to notice their row. The last thing he needed was her know-it-all preaching. Draco had heard enough.
"You might as well give up now, Granger," he sneered, stopping in front of her to lean over the cauldron, invading her personal space. The toxic and bitter cloud of despair that accompanied him everywhere as of late began to fade and seemed to shift away, allowing some other magic to rise up and overshadow his own. It felt unsullied and honorable, with a warm pulse he'd only ever sensed around his mother. It made him feel sick that Hermione Granger's magic could possibly be anything like his mother's.
This silly girl getting so worked up over something as trivial as brewing a calming draught, or some other incorrect potion pissed him right off. It was utterly ridiculous. "By the state of that rat nest on your head, it appears even 'The Chosen One' can't save you from yourself."
"Watch it, Malfoy."
Draco's attention shifted to Harry, and he scowled. "As if you actually know what you're doing." He noticed Harry's fingers move against the table, stretching towards his Potions textbook. "I wouldn't be surprised if you turned out to be a bloody cheat, Potter. No way you'd ever outsmart the school swot."
"You see, even he agrees with me. Something's not right," Hermione interjected with a huff. Her eyes narrowed as she put one hand on her hip, the other pointing directly into Draco's face, catching him off guard. He'd done nothing of the sort. Potter, on the other hand, ignored her completely, focused only on him.
"Says the boy who needs Daddy to buy his way into, or out of, everything," The Golden Boy shot back. It was a pathetic attempt at a comeback, with the very person who'd said it first standing next to him.
Clearly, not everything. For example: The hideous tattoo on my forearm.
"At least my father is around. Remind us again where yours is?" It was a low blow, but considering what had happened and that this lot was the cause of it, he didn't really care. He wouldn't garner any amusement from their usual têt-à-tête at that moment. The knob knew nothing about his father's influence, or in their current case, lack thereof.
Draco stepped back as Harry lunged at him, knocking Hermione against the cauldron in his haste, only to be stopped as her arm shot out to grab Potter's robe and pull him back to her side.
"Enough!" she scolded, shooting daggers at them both with her hard stare. "Need I remind you that I am a Prefect! We're Sixth Years now. Start acting like it, or I'll be forced to take points." She turned to Harry. "From both houses."
Harry, for his part, appeared somewhat admonished. Draco, on the other hand, couldn't care less. He was still a Prefect too, which meant she'd need proper justification to take points from him. Besides, what was a silly inter-house competition when the Dark Lord had actual expectations in your personal success of the impossible?
He rolled his eyes. "For the love of Merlin, Granger, unclench!" Both of their eyes widened at that. "Perhaps that's what you should be focusing on, Potter. Give her a hand, why don't you. Seeing as no one else will touch her, not even the Weasel," he challenged.
He didn't stick around to wait for a reply, her gasp telling him enough, and continued on to his workstation to pack up his things. Whatever concoction she'd created was making him feel, a luxury he was no longer allowed to have. It was far too dangerous for emotion now, knowing it could be used against him. Honestly, what did she, or any of them for that matter, know about what it was like to not be successful when it was necessary? It wasn't as if they had a psychotic murderer breathing down their necks.
Shoving his book back into his bag, he glanced into Theo's cauldron. "Hurry the hell up. I can't stand to be in here any longer with these fucking twats," he snapped.
Bottling his own assignment up, Theo smirked as he turned his attention to him. "Calm down, mate. We've got lunch after this. No need to twist your knickers."
Not in the mood at all, Draco grabbed Theo's shoulder bag and shoved it into his chest, giving him a pointed glare. "I have things to do that take precedence over this fucking class, Nott. Now turn that in, and let's go," he seethed. He quickly checked over his shoulder to make sure no one was watching them, then dropped his voice down low. "I need you to help keep an eye out."
Draco watched the smirk disappear from Theo's face at the reality of what he was implying. Though he'd never told anyone exactly what he'd been up to, it was well known amongst the other Slytherin students that Draco Malfoy was in favor with The Dark Lord. If being 'in favor' means doomed to fail, then sure. That's precisely what I am. Theo, being his closest real friend, knew exactly how much pressure he was under and had made it a point to help him out any way he could.
Theo gave him a terse nod. "Give me two clicks," he said, grabbing a vial stopper from the table and rushing to the front of the room.
Annoyed he was being forced to wait, Draco decided he'd rather be alone for a bit first. He'd begun retreating to the abandoned lavatory on the second floor at the start of term, needing a place to hide out that none of his friends would be wise enough to search.
Not only did he need some quiet for himself, but he also needed to spend some time working on that bloody fucking cabinet. Blowing off the rest of his classes for the day was the only way he would be able to have a bit of solitary silence and spend several hours in the Room of Hidden Things. Now he just hoped that his only sanctuary would be minus a certain moaning ghost. Not bothered at providing an excuse to Theo, Draco spun on his heels and stormed out of the classroom, passing by an even more flustered and pathetic looking Granger on his way out.
"Harry, you don't understand. Professor Snape made it practically impossible to obtain high marks in Potions last year. I cannot go through that again," he heard her huff as they came up behind him outside the classroom.
"Hermione, you're the brightest witch of our age. We both know you don't need my help. Or the book," Harry consoled.
Draco heard her huff with indignation. "Oh, honestly! You have no idea what kind of pressure I'm under, trying to keep my marks up whilst also keeping you and Ronald safe from yourselves. And to be quite frank, it's times like this where I wonder why I even bother with that!"
She pushed past him as she stomped away, knocking him into Theo, who had managed to catch up to him while he was distracted by Potter and Granger, as she headed up the stairs. He watched her disappear around the corner, hair wildly whipping around behind her. She had no bloody clue what real pressure felt like.
He was positive no one ever would.
Unfortunately, the silence he'd sought after was short-lived. Since he'd been unable to dodge Theo after all, Draco had ordered him to hang around the corridor and scare away anyone that came within the vicinity, not wanting him to see exactly where he was headed to. He'd been propped up against one of the stall doors ever since. With his head leant back resting, his eyes began to drift shut when he heard the shrill voice. He ran his fingers through his hair and sighed.
"You haven't come to visit me all week, Dracoooo."
Under normal circumstances, Draco wouldn't mind her company. She came off as more of an infatuated schoolgirl than anything else. His being the 'Malfoy Heir' was insignificant to her, she only cared that he was a boy paying attention to her. She was rather annoying, of course, always a consistently nosy know-it-all whenever he was practicing his repairing spells, but she always seemed to be there when he felt most alone. At that moment, though, being alone was all he wanted.
"Not now, Myrtle. I'm in no mood for you today." The wail that followed was expected.
"Ruuuuude boy, Draco Malfoy! More attractive than most, but never as polite as the others." She continued to wail as she floated around him. "Harry Potter always makes time for me, you know."
"Do not speak to me about fucking Potter!" Draco snapped, jumping to his feet, wand drawn, and pointed at the ghost. "Mention his name again, and I will hex you into the faucets!"
He watched as she retreated back into her stall, moaning his offenses until she disappeared. The silence resumed. He was sick and tired of hearing about 'Perfect Potter.' At times, he felt like his entire world was dependent on the sodding git's actions.
Ironically, no one—not even The Dark Lord—realized that Potter didn't manage his own life at all. He was far too much of a headstrong Gryffindor and mostly got in his own way. It was baffling that no one at Hogwarts seemed to realize that the brilliant ideas and strategic planning that saved The Golden Trio's leader were most often devised by their house's Princess.
If Draco didn't dislike the bint so much, he'd be offended on her behalf, credit where credit was due, and all that. And if someone was going to get credit for interfering in his plans, he wanted them to at least be his intellectual equal. Yes, he was definitely offended. He had already considered she was probably the brains behind the Department of Mysteries fiasco that ultimately led to his family's downfall, but he was more than happy to blame Potter for what transpired.
He let out a frustrated growl, storming towards the stall the ghost had fled into and kicked the door as hard as he could, knocking it off of one of the hinges at impact. Breathing heavily, he stood there for a beat, confused as he took in the scene before him.
Empty vials were strewn across the floor in front of a cauldron that was hovering over a charmed wad of burning paper. Recognizing the smell of Sopophorous Bean, Draco advanced to the boiling pot; his curiosity piqued. Potions that contained that ingredient were only allowed to be brewed by Sixth Years or higher, as far as he was aware. He pondered who would willingly spend their free time perfecting potions?
"Awfully loud, that one," Draco heard behind him. It appeared he hadn't scared Myrtle off as well as he'd thought. "Always mumbling to herself and dropping things. She's much nicer to me than you are." She hovered next to him, staring down at the mess on the floor. "Such a shame about that hair, though," she shrugged before floating off, moaning as she went.
There was only one person in the school that was readily recognized by that description. Considering she was such an overbearing nuisance when it came to following the rules, Draco was surprised to see ingredients that could only have come from Slughorns' storage room. He could only conclude that she'd been stealing supplies for whatever it was she was brewing.
He tisked as he glanced into the cauldron. "You naughty girl, Granger," he mused, noticing the potion was already changing to blue, a clear indicator of a properly brewed Draught of Living Death. He shook his head in annoyance. "Getting your knickers in a twist over a potion, when some of us have real problems."
Seeing how many vials of spoilt potion lay capped on the floor, he wondered if this was something she did often. It wouldn't surprise him, being a Muggle-born, naturally having to work twice as hard in order to keep up with real wizards like himself. Lacking all sense of natural talent, as Father says, those Mudbloods.
His mocking thoughts sobered at that reference. Mudblood. He'd used it so many times when he was younger, specifically towards Granger. He used to relish in the idea it implied: that she was beneath him, that everyone else was less than himself and the other Purebloods at the school. Their only purpose was to go through school and suffer a long career of serving those like him, the only ones worthy of holding any power or position in Wizarding society.
Now, however, he was the one serving, and his mission was so obviously not meant to be successfully completed, at least not by him.
My, how the mighty have fallen.
He scoffed to himself, thinking of the Dark Lord's words: 'runt,' 'sniveling.' His father had failed, and despite the pretty (also read disgusting) words of his father's friends, they saw him as nothing but a weakling. Something Draco had never seen himself as, but here he was, on the verge of yet another breakdown in an abandoned girl's lavatory. A lavatory haunted by the ghost of a girl killed by the very person who had set him on this path to failure.
Moving away from the mess, he leant back against the end of the stalls, sliding down it until he was again on the floor, curling into himself, his head in his hands.
It's not fair...
What he would give for a chance to speak with his mother. To see her. To sit in the drawing room that overlooked her elaborate rose garden. He would sip his tea while expelling all of his worries and fears to her that he couldn't allow his father to see. It had been something they'd done every year since he'd received his Hogwarts letter. Prior to term, over the holidays, and when the year had ended. She'd sit patiently and listen, allowing him to vent his frustrations and give him the reassurance and praise he so desperately craved.
Being this cut off from her left him feeling so lost and alone. She was a warm presence that made him feel rooted in his magic. Confident when he was frightened. Safe when he was anything but.
Draco felt the air shift, the icy breeze that followed Myrtle as she roamed was back. Too deep in his own misery, he didn't bother shooing her away when she floated towards him.
"You know, Dracooo," she cooed quietly, drifting down to his level. "You've always been my favorite."
It was a silly thing to say, to appreciate, especially from a ghost, but the sentiment warmed him, even if only momentarily. They stayed there together in silence, something that had become more common as of late. Draco looked out the window and watched as the clouds outside began to build, the sky darkening, and welcomed it.
He wished the looming darkness would hide him away from judgemental professors, annoying swots, and long-time friends that had no clue he unwillingly carried the weight of The Dark Lord's wishes on his shoulders.
It was meant to be easy, yet here he was. Nothing would ever be easy again.
Draco - November 4, 1996
Another day, another pressing anxiety attack. Draco longed for the past. Anything had to be better than the crushing weight that never seemed to lift from his chest since being given the task to kill the Headmaster. How was he supposed to do this without anyone else getting hurt? Well, except for the obvious. Of course, the Dark Lord and Aunt Bella didn't give a fuck if his fellow classmates got hurt. More likely, they'd have encouraged him to use them to further his plans.
It hurt his head, made him feel like a fucking Hufflepuff. He hadn't wanted any of his classmates to be harmed. If he was honest, he didn't really want to harm Dumbledore. Old fool that he was, he wasn't all bad. If anything, he'd made sure Draco had every opportunity to prove himself. But the threats were thick on the ground, and if he didn't make progress soon, it would all be for naught.
As Draco approached the door to the second floor girls' loo, he felt a warm sensation spread across his chest and down his arms. The closer to the door he got, the more potent the feeling became. Draco pushed open the door, he was so desperate for a few moments of peace that he ignored the unexplained warmth. Perhaps it was just his body's way of offering him comfort and a chance to recover his erratic breath, a chance to grieve for who he was becoming. Had he been paying attention, he might have recognized the familiar feeling.
Rather than the kind, if a bit shrill, words he'd hoped for, Myrtle was already speaking to someone. Draco carefully slowed the door, so it would shut soundlessly, and listened.
"You know, Hermione, before I was killed by that awful snake, I was quite the dab hand at potions," Myrtle said, her words confirming Draco's suspicion from the previous week.
"Is that so, Myrtle?" She sounded exasperated, something he most certainly understood. Particularly when it came to the lavatory ghost.
"It is."
"And what year were you?"
"Fifth."
"Ah, but you see, Myrtle, I'm in my sixth year, and if I wanted someone less experienced than myself helping me, I would have partnered with Ronald."
"You don't have to be ruuuuude!" Myrtle sniffed and then appeared in front of Draco.
"Oh, hello Dracooo," she cooed and batted her eyelashes. "Did you come to see meeee?"
Draco heard scrambling on the other side of the partition, followed by the appearance of Hermione Granger. Hair, nearly standing on end, face flushed, and fists clenched. He really could only be thankful her wand wasn't in her hand because he'd bet his inheritance she'd hex him into next week. Not that inheritances meant much when you were living on borrowed time.
Rather than let her have the first word, Draco patted the wall with an open palm and drawled, "What brings you to this fine establishment, Granger?"
Her eyes narrowed, and that little line between her brows formed—her fighting face. It thrilled him that she was going to play, shooting little tingles up his spine. It had been a hell of a week; he needed this. "That is none of your business, Malfoy."
"Actually, it is, you see. This—" Draco waved his hand around the most avoided lavatory in the castle "—is where I like to have a little quiet time."
Hermione snorted. "You seek quiet and solitude with Myrtle?"
"Aren't you supposed to be helping the Weasel King cheat? Wouldn't he be interested to know you're here with me? Or perhaps, the incomparable Miss Brown would like to know about—" A popping sound cut Draco off.
Hermione huffed and turned away, stomping back around the partition. Draco followed her at a leisurely stroll, taking in the rustling sounds and the acrid tinge that had just permeated the air.
"Well, that's ruined." Kneeling in front of the cauldron, she stuck her wand in and raised it back out, allowing the potion to drop while she studied it closer. "As if Harry's newfound methods weren't already taxing enough, now I get to loathe you even more for distracting me," she grumbled.
Seems there's trouble in paradise for The Golden Trio...
"What's Saint Potter done now that has you skulking in Myrtle's lavatory?"
She rolled her eyes. "I'm not skulking, I'm brewing, and besides, at least I'm a girl; what are you doing in here?"
Of course, he'd realized that, both from the evidence of brewing materials and the cauldron emitting odd bubbles into the air. What he didn't know was why. "We can talk about that later, right now, you've piqued my curiosity. Why are you skulk-ily brewing in Myrtle's bathroom?"
"That is not a word!" Hermione shrieked, making Draco's ears ring. "And I needed time away from prying eyes to practice," she added in a less shrill tone.
"Ha! You're best in our class, or only ever second to me, what do you need to practice for? Let me guess, you're illicitly brewing up some more Polyjuice and have plans to sneak into Slytherin. No need, Granger, I'm happy to give you a very personal tour." He leered with a wink.
Her mouth dropped open in a gasp. "How do you...you know what, never mind. Honestly, I knew you were distracted, but this is ridiculous. If you must know, Harry has been doing better than me in potions!"
"Piss off, Granger, Potty isn't better than you at anything."
"No, he's doing better than you in potions, too. Given that it's the only class you're putting any effort into I'd have thought you would have noticed. Now, what are you really doing here? What's going on that you didn't realize that Harry is outperforming both of us. What is going on with you?" she asked, her hand perched on her hips.
"That's hardly any of your business," he scoffed, turning to leave.
"Maybe not, but something's wrong; you're different this year." She turned back to the cauldron and shook her head as she gave it a quick stir, then turned to face him again.
"Been watching me, Granger? I know I'm quite a sight. These aristocratic lines—" He cocked his head and posed for her, then waved a hand down his torso. "—seeker fit too."
Hermione stepped away from the spoiled potion, vanishing it with a wave of her wand, then turned her attention back to him. Her head tilted as she took him in, and he wanted to squirm or fidget under her scrutiny. Thank Merlin for the years of having such a simpleton's reaction trained out of him.
"You've lost weight. You have dark circles under your eyes. You aren't playing Quidditch, and you've hardly tormented anyone during your Prefect rounds. Well, the ones you've bothered showing up for." She shook her head and brushed off her pleated skirt. "No, Draco Malfoy, something's wrong. I don't care what Harry says. Whatever you've gotten yourself into, you're in over your head, and I don't believe for a second that this is what you wanted."
Draco stood perfectly still; he didn't dare so much as take a breath. With a flick of her wand, Hermione sent her potion's kit back into one of the stalls and started walking toward the door. As she walked past him, his skin broke out in a wave of gooseflesh followed by a soothing warm tingle. It stalled what little capacity to speak he still possessed. And even though he knew he needed to put her off the train of thought she'd expressed, he couldn't so much as think, let alone string two words together. Then she was out the door, and the opportunity was lost. As was the warmth. Cold and despair filled his chest once more as he staggered for one of the sinks.
Gods, what is this?
Something was happening to him. This was the third time being near Granger had evoked that response. But he'd never experienced the loss without being in the presence of other classmates. It was excruciating, like being hit with a mini-crucio.
Did that bloody witch just curse me? Probably trying to steal my magic, the stupid bint.
Of course, he knew that wasn't really something Muggleborns did, stealing magic. His father spouted it out as fact, but Draco was smart enough to know there was no way for someone to actually 'steal' magic.
Still, this is definitely her fault.
After several minutes of slow breaths, the world returned to a soft buzzing that had become his norm. But since when did the world buzz? He tried to pinpoint when things had started feeling differently.
His birthday had passed without merit that summer, the only thing marking the occasion being the invasion of the Manor by the Death Eaters. Thinking back, however, he recalled that the unsettling feeling of cold and despair that Granger's departure had just left him with had begun shortly after that.
If it's not Granger, then…?
It occurred to him that being in the presence of the Dark Lord had elicited the feeling of spiders crawling along his flesh. But the man—if you could call him that—just oozed dark magic.
Magic. Am I sensing magic around me? Am I feeling… her?!
Draco shook out his shoulders and rolled his neck, trying to release some of the built-up tension. He spent several more minutes trying to consider other alternatives, but none manifested.
The stress is sending me barmy.
He really didn't have time for this nonsense. Stretching out his shoulders one last time, Draco straightened his tie and checked his appearance in the mirror. He was everything Granger had described, but it would have to do. Sneer settled back into place; he turned on his heel and strode back out into the castle. There would be no peace found today.
Draco - November 9, 1996
Days later, Draco found himself banging his head against the carved wood of the broken vanishing cabinet. How could his life boil down to this, a broken cabinet that would effectively destroy everything he cared about one way or another. If he failed to fix it, his mother, and himself for that matter, were dead. And that's if they were lucky. If he managed to fix the damn thing, everyone at the school was at risk.
He banged his head one more time for good measure. Maybe it would knock some sense into him. But there was nothing for it. The magic that powered the cabinet still felt as tightly twisted and misaligned as it had the first time he had encountered it. What he needed was someone to talk to who understood this kind of magic, but he couldn't risk it. One slip to the wrong person and it would all come crashing down.
A trip to visit Myrtle appealed, but since his run-in with Granger, she'd been there twice more when he'd sought out his refuge. Quick about-faces had saved him having to converse with her, but it didn't change that she was taking over the one sanctuary he'd found.
No, he'd give up this morning as a bad job, get some breakfast in the Great Hall and retreat to the library. It might be worth trying to think about the problem from a different angle—anything to avoid a confrontation.
Not to mention that you can sense something that is quite possibly her magic, Draco. Don't discount that.
Though he tried to not think about it, the inexplicable stirring of...whatever it was he'd felt around her was harder to ignore than he'd hoped. He'd sat next to Daphne during dinner the previous night, willing those sensations to come back, thinking it was just something he'd never noticed before. Alas, there was only the constant thrumming of magic that he now felt when in The Great Hall. No warmth.
It was bloody infuriating, having her constantly holding court in his head.
Wiping his slick hand on his slacks, Draco made his way back to the door to leave the Room of Hidden Things. It was still early enough that no one should be up and about, which proved correct as he swiftly made his way down from the seventh floor, only having to backtrack once for a shifting staircase.
The Great Hall was sparsely populated, mostly by Ravenclaws and a handful of Hufflepuffs. Draco took a spot at the end of the Slytherin table and started filling his plate when he spotted her. She looked tired. He could commiserate. Not that he would. He looked down at his plate, filled as it would have been when he was training for Quidditch, and sighed. He wanted to eat, he really did, but everything seemed to turn sour with his constant anxiety. He pushed the plate away and instead looked up to the windows that abutted the ceiling, waiting for the owls to arrive with the morning post. Maybe the Prophet would have something useful, not likely, but one never could discount their gossipy reporters' ability to dig up something interesting.
A few minutes later, the owls descended across the hall, and to his surprise, one of the Malfoy owls landed next to him. Damocles held out his leg, revealing a small scroll of parchment, sealed in green wax with the Malfoy seal. His mother had barely been allowed to communicate with him since he'd been back at Hogwarts, and all communications had been through Snape. This was either good or very bad.
Afraid to open the missive near prying eyes, Draco stood and walked along the table looking for a bowl of fruit. He spotted an apple and then pilfered a fluffy croissant from one of the many platters of pastries. He wrapped them in the handkerchief he pulled from his pocket and with a parting glance at Granger, which she met with a raised brow, he made his escape from the Great Hall.
There wasn't a safe place to go, he realized as he found himself standing in the large entrance hall. His dorm would be too crowded; Myrtle's bathroom couldn't be counted on now that Granger had taken up residence. He really did need to do something about that. It was quite cold outside, but it was likely his best option.
Draco made his way down to the edge of the lake and found a tree wide enough to hide him from view. He proceeded to cast a warming charm on himself and a cushioning charm on the ground. It would have to do.
The weight on his chest increased as he broke the seal and unrolled the bit of parchment. Immediately he recognized his mother's flowing script, but it looked off, hurried.
My Dragon,
I find myself retired to my suites as the rest of the Manor is quite crowded. Though many of the guests have found the family wing quite unwelcoming, where poor intentions lie. It is my belief that you'll find no respite here over the winter holidays and may find it best to remain at Hogwarts. Though invitations ought not be rejected where possible. No reply is necessary, as I know of your thoughts on this matter.
With all of my love.
Draco shuddered. This was not good. Not as bad as it could be, but not good. Years of communicating carefully meant he could decipher what wasn't being said. His mother wasn't being allowed to leave her suites, and it sounded like some of his father's fellow Death Eaters had attempted to harm her. It was a horrid sort of relief knowing that the wards on the family home still worked as they should and were protecting her. But there was only so much the manor could do. And her closing line left him trembling. Narcissa Malfoy had only expressed her love for him in such a direct way a handful of times since he had come to Hogwarts and never in writing. She was scared.
Of course she's scared, you twat!
As if you could be anything but terrified living in the same place as the Dark Lord. Constantly protecting your thoughts, never able to let your guard down.
He felt the panic trying to take hold, his breath coming too fast. But this was too public a space, even if it was quiet. He needed to get his shit together and maybe brew a draught of peace. It gave him a thought. He could commandeer one of the other stalls and do some brewing in Myrtle's bathroom too. Not like Granger could report him without revealing her own illicit activities.
Hermione - November 9, 1996
Hagrid had invited them down to his hut for tea; it was the first time they'd been to visit him since the term had begun. Hermione had finally convinced him that their opting out of Care of Magical Creatures was solely due to the rigorous N.E.W.T. level course requirements and not due to his...alternative teaching methods. She and Harry were the only ones in attendance, as Ron had made it clear he had other things to do. They'd seen Malfoy on their way out of the castle; he'd given her an odd look when they'd passed each other before sneering at Harry.
Boys.
Unfortunately, now he was all she could focus on, with Hagrid currently going on about the latest beast he'd rescued.
Draco Malfoy had always unnerved Hermione. Even that very first time they'd stood toe-to-toe on the Hogwarts Express when she was helping Neville find his toad.
He was like a cool breeze that triggered the contraction of every follicle of hair on her limbs. He'd always felt that way to her, like he was a heartbeat away from setting off her predator/prey response. Not that she would ever back down—run away. No, she was a Gryffindor, after all.
But now something was different. She hadn't been around Draco much since the start of term. In fact, she was pretty sure the first time he'd spoken to her had been that day in potions when Harry yet again achieved a better potion than she did. She'd subconsciously begun looking for him in the crowds of students she passed between classes, though she couldn't quite pinpoint why. It was probably the result of her stubborn curiosity, an attempt to analyze him now that she'd held an actual conversation with him.
Absolute, utter, rubbish. Hermione Granger, you are clearly losing your mind! A complete waste of time.
And that had been that, she'd pushed him from her mind. It wasn't like she didn't have plenty of other things to concern herself with, like having her heart stomped upon by Ronald's newfound affection for Lavender Brown. She had to admit it was still a shock.
Taking a sip of her tea, she realized it had gone cold. The sour face she pulled, as a result, caught Hagrid's attention.
"All right there, 'ermione? Be wantin' any more tea? I've got plenty here for us all," he offered. She noticed Harry shaking his head vehemently behind him. He obviously didn't want to stay long.
"Thank you for offering Hagrid, but no. I'm fine." She smiled.
"Suit yerself, lass. Anyway, where was I? Oh yes, so the codgy seller 'ad me followin' him into Knockturn Alley…"
Quietly sighing, Hermione let his voice fade into the background, resuming her previous thoughts.
Sequestering herself in Myrtle's lavatory to perfect Draught of Living Death had made for an effective distraction. Of course, that was before Malfoy invaded her refuge. Sharing a space with him, she'd expected to feel heated, coiled in a constant state of frustration and anger, the exact opposite of what she sought out when she'd commandeered it. Instead, he was just...there, just existed as a neutral presence, which was odd, considering his almost constant state of despair. If it weren't for the fact that he was a giant prat, she could almost admit to wanting to explore it further. Then there was the fact that he was clearly going through something and her stubborn curiosity was not easily pushed aside.
Of course, who wasn't going through something these days? Harry was a mess of denied grief; she could tell by the lack of enthusiasm in Hagrid's current commentary that he was struggling even now. She wished there was more she could do for him but knew this was something he'd have to work through in his own time. Ron continued to have the emotional depth of a teaspoon, though that wasn't very unexpected. Most of her housemates seemed ready to fall apart, especially those from the DA who had been in the Department of Mysteries…
Noticing Harry reach for his coat, she set her tea down and began to gather her things. She was itching to get back to the castle and check on her potions.
"Thank you for having us, Hagrid. We'll make sure to come visit you again soon," Harry said, heading for the door.
"Yes, thank you for tea, Hagrid. It's been lovely," she agreed, stepping into his hug.
"Tell that boy Weasley that 'e needs to come up fer air e'ry once in a while. Poor lad's gonna ferget how to breathe if 'e keeps 'imself attached to someone like that," the half-giant chuckled. Patting Hermione on the head, he leant down and whispered in her ear, "Don't you worry yerself about 'im, dear. 'E'll realize what 'e's gonna lose wivout you before long."
Not knowing how on earth to respond to that, she laughed nervously and nodded before following Harry out the door.
"Well, that was interesting," Harry mumbled as they walked back up the hill towards the castle.
"Is that really what people are assuming?" she lamented. "That I'm moping around the school while Ron is off snogging Lavender in every corner of it? Are they really that thick?"
They crossed over the bridge that led back up to the castle, dodging a gaggle of Hufflepuffs who were chatting away about that morning's feast. Hermione could swear she felt their pity for her as they passed.
"Does it help that I'm not?" Harry shrugged.
She smiled. There was no doubting why Harry was her best friend. "Yes, actually. It does. Thanks for that."
They slowed to a stop when they reached the quad, Harry turning to face her. "You know not to listen to stuff like that, yeah? Trust me, people will always speak about you like they know you. You'll learn to ignore it."
"Honestly, Harry. It's all just nonsense," she said, waving him off with her hand. "Believe me, with everything that's happened this last year, Voldemort being back and you working alongside Dumbledore now, what Ronald chooses to do with his time is the last thing on my mind."
He cleared his throat. "Right, well. Good then. Um, speaking of Dumbledore, I was anxious to leave Hagrid's because…"
Hermione gave him a playful shove, pushing him towards the castle. "Go on then. I have things to do anyway."
Saying their goodbyes, she made her way towards the second floor, relieved when she reached the confines of the abandoned lavatory. The snickers she heard after she'd almost run straight into Lavender and the Patil twins on her way up the staircase were enough to make her blood simmer. She knew she was being baited by the other students into lashing out. She'd never stoop to that level of pettiness. She'd experienced far worse than teenage heartbreak.
This was why she needed distractions. Anything to avoid feeling the icy chill that still emanated from the purple bruise-like mark that marred the left side of her ribcage. Dolohov's curse. She was so far from okay that it wasn't funny. Forcing herself to reflect on everything she'd been through in just the past few months, she had to admit that her sudden desire to figure out what was going on with Malfoy was just the tip of the iceberg.
If anything, it might be worth using Malfoy as a distraction. He was pretty to look at, even if he was foul. Harry was convinced Malfoy was a Death Eater of some sort, but their encounter in the loo left her even more convinced he wasn't some enthusiastic agent of Voldemort. He looked exhausted and desperate. Draco looked like they all did. Like he needed someone to give him a chance. Not that Hermione was that person, but it bothered her all the same that he seemed alone in whatever his struggle was.
Glancing around her workspace, she noticed it was void of its resident ghost. The stillness in the air wasn't as welcoming as it once was. The quiet isolation was almost daunting. She wondered if this was a feeling that Malfoy experienced regularly.
Then again, she was feeling awfully alone in her own struggles. She'd hidden the panic attacks and nightmares during the first half of summer until she escaped to the Burrow. Ginny had her own demons; it was a relief to have someone to share them with. Even though Hermione had hidden them as best she could, she was pretty sure her parents suspected more had happened to her than she'd admitted.
Sighing, she glanced down at the open textbook before beginning the next step of stirring her potion clockwise, twelve times.
She hated to admit it, but her parents were becoming a liability. Or rather, Hermione was becoming a liability to them. She was an adult in the wizarding world, which meant her parent's home no longer had any protections on it. And that made one thing abundantly clear to Hermione: she would not be going back to their home while Voldemort and the Death Eaters roamed free. It didn't take a great intuitive leap to come to the conclusion that someone as high profile as Hermione would be followed right back to her parents.
That didn't make any of it hurt less, though. No, it just gave Hermione more incentive to focus on her studies and the trivialities of her schoolmates. There wasn't anything she could do to stop the creeping dread surrounding the bubble of safety that was Hogwarts. So she would do whatever she could to make the most of the time that was left. The time before everything was almost certainly going to fall apart.
A/N Thank you so much for reading the Prologue & Chapter 1 of our new story! If you liked it - we live for comments :)
Huge thanks go out to our Beta Irma66! And to Elliebear for the beautiful story cover, which can be seen on our Tumblr pages or the AO3 cross-posting. Special thanks also need to go out to our reading/writing/life group for all the support and encouragement you've given us as we took on the behemoth project! Thank you, friends! Logan Lives brought us all together and it's been a fun journey making it through that heartache and into new fandoms (and through the old too).