authorsnote: here we goooo

do hope you enjoy - let me know if you do! the response to this fic has been awesome! also yes, if it wasn't obvious this is a firm draco/hermione fic, slow burn, lots of angst, and no, it will not be a contested pairing.

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songrecs: exile - taylor swift + bon iver

He near rolls his eyes once they land on the grounds of his family's summer cottage in Cornwall (a little bolthole his Mother had told him about) and she faints. He manages not to roll them, but it is a close-run thing.

Of course, what isn't a close-run thing is the shoot of instinctual panic he feels when she falls, instead that makes him catch her, lay her down gently, put his fingers to her wrist to check her pulse.

This isn't him, concerned and kind, but with her … well, he's not himself anymore anyway, but with her he's as far away from himself as he can ever be.

He can't believe it's Granger, of course it is though, it makes sense, fate seems content to truly fuck him over, why not make it Granger? He knew as soon as she stepped into the train car, as soon as he looked at her, and his eyes met hers, grey clashing with brown, he knew.

Or rather he felt something, an odd twitch, an odd stir, an odd tug, 'Protect' and then as the light blossomed it became clear.

Soulmate.

Ugh, it makes him want to gag, what an awful cliché, overused and ridiculous through and through.

He remembers scoffing when Greyback told him, rolling his eyes, shaking his head. Soulmates? It seems too trite even for the wizarding world; but here it is in the flesh, his filthy half breed flesh, looking down at a muggleborn, mudblood as he'd once uttered, not so long ago.

He feels a horrendous score of fury, instinctual fury that he'd even think anything ill of her, that'd he'd even dare to think poorly of her and he scowls at himself.

He's never hated himself more than he does now.

Being a werewolf was bad enough, half breed, degenerate, animal. But soulmate to Granger? A member of the Golden Trio and Gryffindor golden girl? Even ignoring her heritage (for who was he to judge that now? Dirty blood, contaminated blood - one in the same), it's more than that, there is more to it than that; he can't fucking stand her.

She's a know-it-all, bossy, self-righteous, things she's far more brilliant than she actually is and is a colossal pain in the fucking neck. She is a nightmare, arrogant, opinionated, a do-gooder, and the idea of being tied to her? His instincts roaring to protect her above all else? It makes him want to gag, it makes him want to jump off the nearest cliff into the sea below.

Only the worst part is that it doesn't really. He should want to gag, run, jump, he should want to recoil at the idea of being bound to Granger, sneer at the very suggestion he is anything to her and she to him, but instead he feels that thrum again, that awful instinctual force.

Protect.

"Yes, yes" He curses to himself, "I fucking will" He will, what choice does he have?

None. Like every other choice in his life it has been ripped away from him. He could so easily turn his back on Granger now as he could hold his own breath until he dies. Impossible.

He has no choice, and he thinks his life has been ruled by his lack of choice. He thinks of Greyback's bite, the sting of the wand on his wrist drawing the symbol of a mad man, the Malfoy name – all foisted upon him, and now Granger. He never has a choice.

He looks down at her then. She's pretty, he can admit that, but he can see dark circles under her eyes, not as bad as his but they certainly speak of sleep deprivation. She looks tired, and he feels that rush of concern, worry. He can't ignore it, and some awful part of him doesn't want to.

He doesn't want to accept this, but his body screams at him too. Is there a point in resisting? As he looks at her and he can admit that a year ago he'd found her passably pretty but now she looks like the fucking sun to him? Is there a point in trying to resist when he feels nothing more than an urge to protect her, with his own life if necessary? Isn't he too far gone?

He knows the answer as he lifts her from the floor and heads to the small living space.

He was too far gone the second she touched his face, the second he felt a flare of concern for her, the second he realised what they were to one another…

Soulmates. Fucking great.

He places her down on the sofa, glances at his watch. The Express will be getting to Hogwarts within the hour, they don't have long and yet... they have so much to discuss. He glances down at his mark then, smudged against his skin, not quite perfect, just like him now, never to be quite perfect again, nothing in his life is perfect now, lest of all Granger. At that thought he manages a grimace, and heads to the adjoining kitchen.

He needs a drink and manages to score a bottle of Firewhisky from under the sink. Of course, it takes barrels to get him drunk now (another downside of being a werewolf, one more in a sea of them), but the burn down his throat is welcome.

They have much to talk about, and he doesn't even know where to start. He knows Granger will ask endless questions, badger him, probably even pretend she knows the answers. He takes another gulp of drink then, he needs it. He can't stand Granger on his best days, never mind now, after a summer of sleepless nights and horror, after finding this out. He won't be pleasant; he doesn't intend to be.

He can accept it, he can feel his connection to her in his blood now, it's part of him, no prying it free, he could only do so by draining the blood from his own body; impossible, regardless though he doesn't have to like it. He doesn't have to (god forbid), be nice to Granger. Soulmates or not he has no interest in her.

But then like so many other contradictions he does of course have every interest in her, the wolf in him is already pining for her, looking to her like a saviour, wanting to drink her in, in every possible way. Wanting to be close to her, near her, with her, when such a thought makes him recoil.

Because he is not just the wolf, and Draco Malfoy does not like Hermione Granger, it is as simple as that. He is more than his instincts, and though his skewed view will now acknowledge her beauty, it doesn't mean he will, it doesn't mean he wants anything with her, anything from her, or even anything to do with her.

A faint moan comes from the couch and he downs the rest of his drink before grabbing another glass. It would be easier to ignore her, but he knows that's impossible now.

Now that he can't quite accept yet; that he'll have anything to do with the muggleborn he's tied to but simultaneously can't stand. In his mind he wants nothing to do with her, regardless of the wolf, and yet even he knows (even if he won't acknowledge it), that it won't be that easy.

Still, the wolf in him has him rushing over then, regardless of his view, taking a seat on the end of the couch, placing down the two drinks on the small table, topped up (they'll need to be) and turning to her, just as she wakes, hair mused – once he'd have winced, looking at that haystack, now he just sees fierce unbounded curls. He notices the dark cycles again and once he'd have mocked her, now he wants to express concern. As she wakes and her gaze finds his – grey to brown, he feels that rush again.

Like the sun. God, he's screwed.

This time there was no blackness, no haunting voice, no mythical lights flashing across her gaze. This time she doesn't feel as though she is looking into the abyss, in fact this time she feels nothing at all, not until she wakes.

And she does, with a faint gasp, her back arching forcing her up. She takes a second as she sits up to realise where she is – she doesn't recognise it. Fear shoots through her as she looks at unfamiliar surroundings until her eyes find not the familiar stick of wood, but him.

Malfoy.

He looks concerned, a look she's never seen on him before and her eyebrows shoot up in response. Of course, his expression soon changes, a sneer taking over the face that could be handsome if not always smirking or sneering. But then, as she looks at him, she thinks he is handsome, even with that ugly expression on his face.

"Where are we?" She asks, scuttling back on the sofa little, smoothing down her robes, tucking her feet underneath herself. She raises an eyebrow as Draco just waves his hand, a glass of amber liquid suddenly appearing in front of her. She inhales and catches the sharp tang of Firewhisky and turns to Malfoy again.

"Trust me, you'll need it" He offers, and she frowns – it's barely Midday! Wait … is it? How long was she out for?

"You're fine" He says with a roll of his eyes, and she glares at him, he's doing it again, like he did on the train, Legilimency. She is begrudgingly impressed and disgusted he'd enter her mind without permission, but she can't even express that before he speaks again.

"Granger, I'm not reading your mind" He says, looking at her then, and she finds herself caught in his gaze as he speaks, "I could, easily, you practically scream your thoughts, but I'm not, you're just easy to read" She scowls at that and he laughs then, "See? Easy to read"

"Where are we?" She asks again, she doesn't want Malfoy mocking her, she's had enough of that for one lifetime. She didn't take his hand to drink Firewhisky, listen to him mock her and roll his eyes. She wants to know what's going on, she wants to know what happened.

She needs to know.

"In Cornwall" He offers and she's surprised he's straight with her, "It's one of the Malfoy properties, unplottable" He then sips his drink.

She should be worried, worried why he's whisked her away, worried about no one being able to find them, and yet somehow she's just not.

She thinks of what he said before…

'I won't hurt you'

'I can't'

'I said I won't hurt you'

'Won't or can't?'

'Both'

Somehow she trusts that, and so she nods, and then of course another question, "What time is it?"

"The Express will arrive at Hogsmeade in forty five minutes" He says with a nod, and then takes another sip, "You might want to start drinking as that isn't nearly enough time to cover everything, even with the bits I won't tell you yet, but we'll need to get back for the feast"

She bristles at that, "Won't tell me?"

"No" He says, unapologetically. It annoys her that with everyone else her anger unsettles them, with Draco it doesn't seem to bother him at all, "Not yet"

"When?" She fires back.

"When you're ready" He says immediately.

"I'm ready now" He actually laughs then and shakes his head.

"No, you're not" He downs his drink then and reaches for the bottle, that has her taking her first sip, she manages not to cough and the burn helps, "And neither am I"

That chills her a little and she finds herself quickly gulping her drink down as he did, and then sticking her glass out for more. It scares her even more when he doesn't comment and just tops her up.

What is he about to tell her that's so bad? And what is even beyond that he intends to keep it from her? She's never not wanted to know something before, and yet she feels uneasy about new information in a way she never has before. It unsettles her.

"But" He pauses then, lifting the bottle, topping them both up. "I can tell you some stuff"

"Like what?" He gives her a look when she asks again, it is full of mocking, teasing her for asking questions and she feels her cheeks burn a little; she despises how he can make her feel so small, even now, even when she feels safe, she's never safe from his cruelty.

"Well you know what I've become" He says with a nod and she nods back, goes to open her mouth to ask something but he just glares at her and that stops her in her tracks as he carries on, "And I can explain what you are to me now, what the light meant, what happened when you stepped in the train car. That I can explain"

"What happened?" She didn't mean for her voice to drop to a whisper, but it did, and she can see Malfoy has bent his head a little, all sardonic wit and mocking gone, the sneer disappeared, he looks morose if anything.

The atmosphere has changed in seconds, but it changes again after he speaks.

"A soulbond" He forces the words out, she senses it hurts him to say them, but that she can barely focus on.

Everything seems to go white, white spots on her vision, white lines, she feels a ringing in her ears. soulbond? She knows little about the wizarding world outside of what she's researched and been taught at Hogwarts, her spare time is devoted to learning spells, theory, potions, not wizarding culture, customs and etiquette, but it's not hard to guess.

"Granger" She feels him shake her shoulders, and the white seems to dissipate but not completely until he shakes her again and speaks, "It's alright"

That somehow brings her back to herself, even though she knows it's not alright, somehow Malfoy saying so made it easier, she's not sure why.

Maybe it's the soulbond.

She feels a little sick – she doesn't even know what a soulbond is, what it means, but she knows she doesn't want it, with Malfoy or anyone, though its worse with Malfoy, her childhood tormentor, she doesn't want to be tied to him, not in anyway, and yet even though she doesn't know what it means, soulbond suggests a tie.

A deep tie, to her, to the very essence of her being.

She might throw up.

"What is it?" She manages to choke out, she feels a little dizzy when she looks at Malfoy, who has lost his sneer, even looks mildly concerned.

That is worse, much, much worse.

He does sneer then and weirdly that makes her feel a bit better. Sneering, mean Malfoy she can handle, concerned almost sympathetic Malfoy? That she doesn't know nor want to know, how to deal with. "Use your imagination" He says with a roll of his eyes, knocking back his drink again and pouring more.

"Our souls are bound?" She asks, timidly, she hates that, she's not timid, but with this Malfoy? Chopping and changing? Moods up and down? She doesn't know how to be. The sting of the whisky does help though, even calms her nausea, and so she takes another sip.

"Wow" He says, and that gets her back up some more and she shoots him a glare, "No wonder you're top of the class"

She bristles at that, "Okay" She says, and she can hear the nastiness creeping into her tone, she does not like being mocked, though it's easier to deal with Malfoy like this, she still doesn't like it, "How am I supposed to know this stuff?"

"This stuff?" Malfoy says with a scoff, and that really gets her, and so she's spiteful. She can admit it's one of her worst qualities, kind of like a wounded animal backed into a corner; she lashes out.

"Well I'm sorry Malfoy" Her tone is dripping with sarcasm, "I'm sorry I don't know the intricacies of werewolf rituals" She sneers, it's not even mean really, just a fact, but it's the way she says it, the nasty sneer that almost mirror's Malfoys that does it.

Still she didn't expect the reaction she got, not by a mile.

"What did you just say?" She had expected mocking, anger, maybe just a glare, but not this. This weird, quiet fury. In a way it reminds her of Harry, even though he erupts not stews. "What did you just say?" He asks again, his voice is cold, calm strangely.

For the first time since Malfoy had apparated them here she feels scared.

"I…" She stumbles, she didn't realise a comment, sure one said with venom yes, but just a comment, nothing even that unkind.

"Don't you fucking dare mention what I am" He said, and she can see he is vibrating with fury, and she feels that flash of fear again. She understands a little now, it's not the comment, it's the word; werewolf.

"Fuck" He roars then, and she flinches, stumbles back to stand up, her hands are shaking. He is away from her first though, off the couch, erupting to a stand, his entire being shaking, not just his hands, "I won't fucking hurt you" He shouts though, in contrast to his actions, and she hates herself for flinching again.

"Do you want to?" She spits out, because she has to, she's not sure why, but she needs to ask.

"Don't" He growls back, and she flinches again, she can't help it, not when his reactions are so visceral, so harsh. She wishes he'd answered, but knows not to push, not now.

He erupts, but not in any way she has seen before. When Ron gets angry he goes bright red and usually storms off before any real damage can be done. Harry boils and boils before exploding with anger, though he's never hurtful. Ginny throws nasty hexes and holds grudges for weeks. And Hermione? She knows she gets mean, nasty, spiteful, vindictive, anger brings out the worst in her.

Malfoy is none of those. He is like ice, cold fury that is so much more terrifying than a fiery eruption.

He said he wouldn't hurt her, but she can't help but wonder … how much self-control does he have? More or less as a werewolf? Will he hurt her without meaning to? Can he control it? She doesn't know, she wonders if he does.

"Don't you ever speak about what I am again" He spits out and if she weren't so scared she'd chastise him for being so sensitive.

"Look…" She stumbles out, but then Malfoy throws her a nasty glare – perhaps now isn't the time to argue with him, perhaps for once she should just leave it be, though that idea grates against her very being, she's not the type to let things go. "Malfoy…"

"Get out" He demands of her then, cutting her off, and he's pacing now, like a caged animal, desperate to attack, leap, grab her, but somehow held back. She can see he wants to give in to his anger, but he doesn't. She isn't sure why.

Won't.

Can't.

She glances at the door as he repeats his words, "Get out" If only it were that simple, her desire for answers and her need to flee, to put distance to this situation, they war.

"I can't" She says with a bit more force. She is not the type to cower and flinch, as terrifying as Malfoy is. He shouldn't even scare her! But he's never been this unpredictable. Before his insults hurt yes, but they were obvious, but now? She doesn't know how he'll lash out, and that is what is so terrifying.

Fury and anger she can handle, but the unknown? That is what makes her flinch.

With a growl he seemed to surge forward and by instinct she goes to take a step back, a little squeal leaving her lips as she tries to dodge from his way. Instead he is suddenly crowding her, and his hands find her biceps and clench, hard.

Her eyes widen as almost immediately to him grabbing her she feels the sensation of being squeezed through a tube, and she quickly forces her eyes shut as Malfoy apparates them.

In seconds she is back in the train carriage, in a heap on the floor, her things back around her. She looks up to Malfoy, who remained standing, and she quickly scrambles to her feet. She won't ever be in a position where he can look down at her, though he glares instead of sneers now.

"You were supposed to tell me…" She can't help but ask. He has left her with nothing! Just a small explanation with no expanding, no clear answering of any questions she might have. He has left her in the dark, the place she so hates to be.

"Figure it out" He spits back, his tone overflowing with venom, "If you can" He sneers hard then, and she takes a step back, not to be scared, but to distance herself from such malice.

She gets the distinct sense she is playing with fire here, when she argues back, when she turned her sarcasm on him, when she demands an explanation that he does not want to give. Playing with flames, as though they tickle and dance across her hand. Will she get burnt? She doesn't want to, and yet play she does.

With Malfoy though she may not have a choice, she gets the sense he'll burn her no matter what … or perhaps freeze her, whichever hurts her more.

"Malfoy…" She goes to speak, for how can he leave it at this? She glances out the window, Hogwarts approaches but they have time, time to talk, as they desperately need to. "I have a right to know"

"I said I'd tell you when you're ready" He throws back, before shaking his head, his expression one of disgust, "Maybe I should have said, when you deserve it"

Before she can say another word, before she can perhaps scream at him for playing with her, for withholding such important information, he is gone, with a crack of apparition, a type of magic that is even beyond her at this point. He is gone, and she just manages to throw up a silencing charm before letting out a shriek of frustration, unable to hold it back, not wanting to hold it back.

Her head pounds, her hands feel sweaty, and she has no idea what any of the past hour has meant. She collapses into one of the chairs. She should go back, no doubt people are looking for her now. She should calm down, she should rejoin her friends, but instead she just sits, as rain lashes on the window, as Hogwarts grows closer, she just sits and contemplates.

What on earth has happened?

sooo thoughts?

I do hope you enjoy! do let me know if you did! or feel free to give me some feedback - as long as its constructive!

also this will be dual draco / hermione pov's, maybe some others too, but always those two. also I'm looking at some other pairings, think I'm pretty set on pairing 2 but there are many more! let me know who you'd like to see!

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