Chapter 18

no sign of soulmates

Soulmate: a person with whom one has a feeling of deep or natural affinity..., with the implication of an exclusive lifelong bond. It commonly holds the connotation of being the strongest bond with another person that one can achieve. People who believe in soulmates commonly accept that one will feel 'complete' once they have found their soulmate, as it is partially in the perceived definition that two souls are meant to unite.
- Wikipedia, Soulmate

DRACO

Draco awoke before his mind fully registered what was happening.

His chest tightened, a strange heat blooming near the base of his throat—the ring. It was burning, not painful, but enough to make his pulse race and his hands shake as he pushed himself upright.

Something was wrong.

Draco's eyes shot open to the afternoon light filtering through the heavy drapes. He felt a strange calm for a split second—just a whisper of peace. But then his groggy brain caught up, and his heart plummeted.

He was alone.

"Love?" he called, voice hoarse and cracked from sleep.

Silence.

A wave of nausea hit him, the damper potion's side effects twisting through his gut as he sat up. The fever was worse this morning; his skin felt clammy, like his insides were simmering under his skin. He rubbed his forehead, forcing himself upright despite the dizziness making the room spin. The potions still made him feel weak as a kitten; the edges of his magic dulled to almost nothing.

Hermione didn't answer. Panic began to swell, thick and immediate, constricting his chest. He forced himself up, his legs unsteady as he moved.

"Hermione?" He scrambled for his mother's wand, but his fingers fumbled, his muscles sluggish from exhaustion. He cursed under his breath, finally grabbing the wand.

The potion. That damn potion.

It sapped his magical core, leaving his strength a shadow of what it should have been. He tried to summon the magic within him, to apparate to wherever she was, but the spark fizzled before it could ignite. The oppressive weight of helplessness settled on his chest.

She was in danger. The ring never activated without reason.

Draco gritted his teeth, dragging himself to his feet. His mind raced with a thousand questions.

She hadn't said anything about leaving, had she?

This time, her nighttime absence felt unlike those before. He knew something had happened. She was scared—terrified. The ring had summoned him; it had to be bad.

Where was she?

Hogwarts, maybe? She'd said they had days. Had something changed?

All he knew was that she was in real trouble.

Fear surged through him, sharp and paralyzing. He dragged himself to the window, staring into the darkness. The house was silent.

No sign of her.

Tapping on the window caught his attention. A vibrant bird, not an owl. Draco moved quickly, creaking the window just enough to allow the animal to enter with a soft flutter. Even with his magic dulled, Draco could feel the traces of transfiguration on the Kingfisher. The bird alighted delicately on the windowsill.

Draco wasted no time. His mother's wand flicked out, casting a quick Finite Incantatem, and the Kingfisher morphed back into his wife's very illegal bag.

Draco's stomach dropped. She would only send her bag like this if something were wrong—if she'd been captured. Her bag was the most valuable thing she had. Among the supplies were all the essentials for her to survive in nearly any situation, along with her notes and books.

With shaking hands, he opened the bag, the familiar scent of her perfume hitting him. But that comfort was fleeting. He sifted through the items inside, his eyes catching the edge of something—the DA galleon. A chill ran through him as he grasped the coin, its weight far heavier than its physical presence. The galleon pulsed with magic, indicating that someone from the DA was still active.

Draco's fingers trembled as he stared at the Galleon, the small, enchanted object gleaming under the dim light. Hermione had shown him how to activate it and how to use it in case of an emergency. She'd even explained the Protean Charm with pride, her face alight with the triumph of a spell well-cast.

But the Galleon held no message, its warmth fading as quickly as his hope.

The bag offered no clues to her location or situation. He fisted the fabric tightly in his hand.

Without his magic, he was useless. Useless to his wife, whose magical ring was starting to burn a line at the base of his throat through his inaction. His inability to save her.

His thoughts were a blur when the air shifted.

A Patronus appeared, shimmering into existence with the grace of a mink, its silvery form flickering like moonlight. Draco's heart stuttered in his chest, his breath hitching as he froze. The Patronus locked eyes with him, the familiar voice of Daphne Greengrass ringing out, sharp with urgency.

"Theo's been taken," it said. "Bellatrix came for him in the Slytherin Common Room. We need you. Now."

Draco's stomach twisted violently. Theo. The one person who had always stood by him through everything. The thought of him falling into the hands of their enemies, suffering… He couldn't bear it. Not to Theo or Hermione.

But then his mind screamed the cruel truth.

He couldn't save them both at once.

She wasn't just missing; she was likely already caught. And there was only one of him.

Theo or Hermione. Hermione or Theo.

Theo had no one else. No one else would risk everything to save him.

But Hermione—she was his wife. She had him and more. Potter, Weasley, and the Order would go on the lookout for her, make every effort to bring her back.

But Theo? He was alone.

The Patronus dissipated, leaving Draco alone in the suffocating silence.

"Fuck!" Draco dropped the bag, fist landing on the wall beside him in desperate fury.

He needed to go, needed to make a choice.

But what was the right one?

Hermione was clever. She had friends and allies who would help her. She might be okay.

Draco's thoughts were scattered as he grabbed the DA coin again, a last-ditch effort to reach out for help. He sent a quick message to the DA, just a few simple words: Hermione's been taken. Send help.

If Draco knew Potter, he would do anything to mobilize to save Hermione. She had an army behind her now.

Theo only had him. A weak, spineless best friend who had only looked after his own self-interests.

A fire of resolve burned in his chest. Draco knew the risks. He knew the punishment he would face if he failed. But Theo needed him—he needed to act.

Without a second thought, Draco turned towards the potion on his desk, the one he had been due to take this morning and was late due to the shock of the morning—the one that kept his magic tethered and his link to the Dark Lord murky. He picked it up, staring at it as if it were a cursed thing, its liquid glimmering darkly in the light.

He hesitated, his hand trembling for a moment. Then, with a cold breath, he poured it down the drain.

He needed all of his magic for what was coming. He needed to be sharp and focused. He couldn't afford to be weak.

Draco, while awaiting his magic, scarcely considered the situation he faced.

When his magic began to hum in his veins again, he was raw and desperate for action.

He needed to get to Hogwarts, and he needed to do it now.

With his last ounce of control, Draco took a deep breath, steadied his mind, and focused on his destination.

He would save Theo.

He would find Hermione.

And if he had to burn the entire world to do it, he would.

With a pop, Draco Disapparated.

Draco appeared in the Slytherin Common Room with a soft pop, his heart still hammering from the journey. Holding onto the back of the couch, he steadied himself as the room slowly came into focus. Using that amount of magic after his core was so depleted was nauseating.

The atmosphere was tense, filled with the low murmur of frantic voices. Daphne and Blaze stood at one end, quarrelling, while Pansy paced in circles, wringing her hands.

"Damnit." Blaze's eyes were wild with desperation. "What the fuck did Bellatrix Lestrange want with him?"

"We can't just rush in. The Death Eaters are here. The Order of the Phoenix is here. We're too exposed," Pansy countered, shaking her head. "They don't care who we are. We'll be slaughtered."

At the sound of Draco's arrival, all three heads snapped toward him. Daphne's face brightened as if a hero had just entered the room—wide eyes, trembling lips showing relief.

"Draco!" she exclaimed, her voice cracking, and for a split second, it was as though the world's weight had lifted from her shoulders. "You're here. You can help us, can't you? You're… you can save Theo."

The sudden, nauseating feeling of being worshipped—treated like a hero—made Draco's stomach turn. He swallowed hard, his throat dry. He couldn't stand this, not when it felt so wrong. He wasn't a hero, not like Potter, not even close. He was just a man caught between two worlds, between two people, one of whom was missing, maybe suffering—his wife, his Hermione, and his best friend.

Daphne's hopeful gaze set his nerves on edge. He wanted to snap, to tell her he wasn't someone to count on.

Before he could speak, Pansy broke the tension. "Draco, thank Merlin, you're here," she said, her face a mix of relief and urgency. "Theo's gone. Bellatrix stormed into the Common Room and dragged him off like he was nothing."

Blaze nodded grimly, his brow furrowed. "It's chaos, Draco. Death Eaters everywhere. The Order's fighting, but they're scattered. The castle's a war zone. We need a plan, and we need one now."

The situation hit Draco all at once. He anticipated extra time; a moment to breathe. His eyes darted around the room, catching Daphne's desperate stare and Pansy's steely expression. Everyone watched him expectantly for a solution.

Why him?

Theo, his best friend, who had stuck by him through everything, was in Bellatrix's hands. Every second that passed, the chances of Theo surviving dropped.

But… Hermione. He didn't know if she was alive or enduring torture somewhere. The thought of her in that kind of pain tearing at him.

He couldn't focus on one without thinking of the other.

"Draco," Pansy's voice brought him back to reality, pulling him from internal chaos. "We don't have time to waste. We need your help. Theo's gone."

A sharp pang of guilt hit Draco like a curse. He wasn't sure he could do it. He wasn't sure he was strong enough.

"I don't—" he started, but Blaze cut him off.

"No time for doubt, Malfoy!" Blaze barked. "We have to move now."

Still clutching her hands, Daphne added, "Theo's one of us. He—he can't be left to Bellatrix. You know what she'll do."

Draco's mind was spinning, his thoughts flashing between Theo's pain and the image of Hermione, potentially alone, possibly suffering.

Daphne, Blaze, and Pansy were still waiting, still hoping. They were all looking at him, needing him to act.

Draco's thoughts raced, but he couldn't afford to freeze.

"We'll split up," he said, his voice calm despite the turmoil inside. "It's safer and faster. Don't confront Bellatrix—just find Theo. As soon as you do, send word. We'll regroup here."

The others nodded, their faces grim but determined. They knew the stakes.

Draco's pulse quickened as he slipped into the dark corridors, weaving through the panic that had descended upon Hogwarts. Shouting, clashing of spells, and the hiss of curses filled the air, but Draco pushed through it.

He needed to find Theo.

The castle was a war zone, chaos erupting in every corner. A faint scream echoed in the distance. Each one could be either Theo or, worse still, Hermione.

His breath came in shallow gasps as he ducked behind a column, peering around corners. Bellatrix could be anywhere. He could hear her unmistakable laugh carrying in the air, a haunting sound that sent chills down his spine. But he couldn't stop. Not now.

Theo's safety was his mission, his only priority.

Draco's heart hammered in his chest as he approached a group of Death Eaters ahead. His magic was weakened. He knew he couldn't fight them off—not yet, not in his current state. But he had to keep moving. He had to keep searching.

Reaching into his back pocket, his fingers brushed his mask's cold, familiar shape. He'd thought to bring it, just in case. A surge of dread filled him, but he couldn't stop. With a quick breath, he slipped it over his face, his identity concealed again.

Walking past the Death Eaters, he kept his gaze low, pretending to be another faceless follower. The group didn't seem to notice him. He passed them without a word, dread settling heavily in his stomach. The mask—it felt suffocating, a reminder of everything he had to distance himself from. But it worked.

A scream split the air, followed by high-pitched laugh and keening. It echoed throughout the stone walls.

Draco's heart lurched. He'd recognize that scream anywhere. He still heard it in his nightmares.

Hermione.

It was the same agonized cry he had heard at the Manor. The sound sent a jolt of panic through him, and a sudden stronger burst of heat radiated from his chest—the unmistakable signal from Hermione's ring.

Before he even registered what was happening, Draco was halfway up the Astronomy Tower stairs, his feet moving instinctively. His mind raced, but his body had already made the decision. He couldn't stop now.

Draco reached the top of the Astronomy Tower, breath ragged, chest tight, but the sight that greeted him made his heart freeze. Bellatrix stood there, a twisted smile on her lips, her fingers tangled in Hermione's hair as she tilted his wife's head backward, exposing her delicate throat. The cursed serrated knife glinted in the moonlight. Its blade pressed close to Hermione's exposed flesh.

Theo was there, too, standing too close to the edge, his body swaying slightly as if the ropes binding him were the only thing keeping him from toppling over. Draco's heart seized. The dark stone of the tower seemed to pull him downward, the sheer drop beyond Theo's feet a silent threat. One wrong move, one flick of Bellatrix's wand, could all end.

Every muscle in Draco's body tensed, every instinct screaming for him to act, but he was rooted in place—helpless, watching the danger creep closer.

Panic surged in him. His stomach churned as the full weight of the situation hit him like a physical blow.

Bellatrix had them both. His wife and his friend. Hermione and Theo.

Draco's eyes locked with Hermione's, and the moment froze like a sharp intake of breath. Her gaze dropped, taking in the black robes and the silver mask covering his face. Her expression shifted from panic to something raw and guttural—a flicker of betrayal laced with anguish.

"Draco?" She trembled as she stared at him.

His stomach churned. He'd forgotten to tear off the mask in his haste to get to her and Theo. And now, seeing him in the uniform of their shared nightmares unravelled her in ways he hadn't anticipated.

Bellatrix's sharp, gleeful laughter shattered the moment. "Oh, isn't this rich? Your wife can't even tell if you're part of our group or not!

Draco ripped the mask from his face, throwing it to the floor with a clatter.

"It's me, Hermione," he said, his voice urgent.

Her breathing hitched, but she nodded, her hand trembling as she reached toward him, seeking the truth in his eyes.

"I'll explain everything," he promised, turning his focus to Bellatrix as his rage ignited.

But the look on Hermione's face stayed with him—fear, relief, and the pain of being thrust back into the darkest moments of her life. It burned into him as deeply as the mark on his arm.

Bellatrix's laugh echoed off the stone walls, sharp and cruel. She revelled in the terror that flickered in Draco's eyes, savouring his helplessness.

"Oh, Draco," she purred, her voice dripping with mock sympathy, "you've always been so careful, so calculating. But this… this is a real test. You can save one of them, of course. I'll even let the one you choose go without a fight. The Mudblood or the Nott heir. Choose wisely. Which one will it be?"

Her grin widened, relishing the agony that twisted his features.

His fingers twitched toward his wand, but he stopped.

What's the right move here?

Theo—helpless and boundwas dangerously close to falling. Hermione—his wife was trapped beneath his aunt's blade. Bellatrix: a coiled snake, poised to strike.

"Don't," Draco pleaded loud enough to carry across the dark space. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears that, for a moment, he couldn't even hear the wind. "Don't do this, don't hurt them."

Bellatrix's grin widened, sensing his hesitation. "All you need to do is pick one, nephew."

Draco's chest heaved with panicked, uneven breaths, his eyes flickering desperately between Theo and Hermione. Each second stretched unbearably as he stood frozen, the weight of his choices bearing down on him like a crushing tide.

What do I do? The thought screamed in his mind, wild and relentless. Theo—his oldest friend—who'd been there when everything else fell apart. And Hermione—his wife, his salvation, the person he'd bled and broken himself for.

The reality gutted him: he couldn't save both.

His fists clenched at his sides, his nails digging into his palms as his pulse thundered in his ears. The sound of Hermione's ragged breathing and the shallow, terrified huff Theo let out was unbearable. A lingering burn in his chest remained from the betrayal he saw in her eyes when she saw his Death Eater mask. Another dagger in an impossible choice.

Bellatrix's laugh pierced his thoughts, sharp and venomous. "Oh, my dear nephew, look at you squirm! Can't even choose who dies first, can you?"

Draco's jaw tightened as he fought to steady himself, but his resolve wavered. He wanted to scream, to act, but his limbs felt like lead.

He couldn't do this. He couldn't choose. They were all going to die because of him.

Bellatrix's cold, venomous laughter echoed in the empty tower.

"You were never intended to be anything beyond a pawn, a puppet manipulated by your father's wishes." Bellatrix's voice dripped with disdain. "From the day you were born, your fate was sealed. You've never had control, Draco. The mere thought of it terrifies you. No one here will tell you what to do. You have to do it yourself. You must shoulder all the blame for your choice."

Hermione's eyes flashed with disgust as she struggled against Bellatrix's grip.

"Don't listen to her," she said, her voice filled with defiance. "She's lying."

The slight movement she made caused the knife to jostle, a small cut forming on Hermione's throat. A small bead of blood wept down her skin from the tear.

Draco's stomach twisted, Bellatrix's words sinking deep, but Hermione's fierce glare snapped him back.

He couldn't let Bellatrix's words be true. Not now. Not when it mattered.

"I thought a lot about what happened at Malfoy Manor, how this Mudblood was wearing the Malfoy ring. She has my mother's necklace." Bellatrix's voice became louder and increased in pitch, losing more sanity as she continued. "Then I conducted a few tests on the ring you gave to the Dark Lord. It was impressive, but not infallible. I managed to put it all together quickly after that. I heard the Nott boy was good with ancient artifacts."

Bellatrix motioned towards Theo, who went still as a statue, the wind blowing in his hair from the night air.

Bella's fingers twisted in Hermione's hair as she readjusted the knife. "It's such a simple choice. One life, one death. Who will it be, hmm? Come now, don't be a coward."

Draco's heart raced, each beat sounding like a drum in his ears as his gaze flicked between Theo and Hermione. Theo was standing there, helpless, bound by ropes that made Draco's stomach churn. His expression, though, was calm—too calm.

"Drake… it's okay. Save her. You don't owe me this." Theo's voice was trembling.

"No," Draco growled, his voice breaking under the strain. "No, you don't get to do that."

Tears stung his eyes as his mother's words echoed in his mind from what felt like a lifetime ago: Malfoys always come out on top. Malfoys won, and Malfoys endured.

But this wasn't enduring—it was shattering.

"It's okay, Draco." Theo's voice cut through his thoughts.

It wasn't what Draco wanted to hear.

Theo spoke as though the choice was simple, like it took no effort. Like he didn't matter to Draco. Like it was just a fact, an easy decision, to choose Hermione and let Theo plummet to his death.

Didn't Theo understand how important he was to him?

Draco stood in stunned horror. This felt like a cruel joke.

Every moment, every decision had led him here—to this impossible choice.

His entire life, he'd wanted to choose—to escape the suffocating hands of fate. Yet now, fate had dealt him this: the choice that would cost him someone he loved no matter what. He couldn't bear it. It paralyzed him in fear.

He lacked agency over his life. He'd always followed orders, obeyed, and been the puppet on a string. Even now, it felt like an unseen hand pulled those strings, directing him down this torturous path.

Draco looked at Hermione, the fire in her eyes, the raw determination in the way she stood there, fighting against the odds. And at that moment, all of his choices, all the suffering, weren't just about him anymore. It was about them.

Hermione's voice broke through his haze. "You're not a puppet, Draco. Not anymore."

Her words struck something profound inside him, something that clawed past the fear and indecision. He locked eyes with her, and the storm inside him calmed for a split second. The room was heavy with the scent of singed stone and the metallic tang of blood from the battle below, creating a charged atmosphere.

Bellatrix's grin widened, her wand tip glowing bright red.

"Tick-tock, nephew," she drawled, her voice dripping with venom. "Your hesitation is boring me." Her head tilted, her black curls spilling over her shoulder like coiled serpents. "Let me help. We don't have all day. Seems you need a small push."

Draco barely had time to react as she flicked her wand, sending a shimmering arc of light hurtling toward him. He deflected, but a part of the spell struck his side with searing heat, and he staggered, clutching his ribs as pain bloomed in a fiery wave. His knees buckled, and the cold stone floor rushed up to meet him.

"Draco!" Hermione's scream pierced the chaos.

The taste of iron filled his mouth as he gasped for air, his vision swimming. His hand came away from his side slick with blood, and he clenched his teeth, fighting the dizziness that threatened to drag him under. Through the haze, he saw Hermione struggle, her eyes blazing with fury. Bellatrix's hold on her knife became loose when she launched the spell at him, allowing Hermione to break free and gain a measure of distance from his aunt.

Bellatrix turned her attention to Hermione, laughing with unhinged delight.

"Oh, dear girl," she purred, "such devotion. Too bad he didn't just choose you outright. Such a shame."

The temperature shifted. Draco, still kneeling, felt the hairs on his arms rise. Hermione stood motionless, her chest heaving. A strange hum filled the air, a low vibration that thrummed through his bones.

Draco studied his wife. The strings weren't just in his hands anymore.

And Hermione Malfoy was a force of nature.

Hermione caught his eye, her eyes fierce. A vision of a goddess of war, of wrath and fury. "I never asked to be protected."

Hermione wasn't afraid.

"You're right, you didn't," Draco said, teeth clenched as he applied more pressure to his wound.

Hermione's eyes blazed, scorching the air between them. The intensity of her sharp and unyielding gaze made Draco's breath catch in his throat. Her body was taut, vibrating with an energy that made the atmosphere crackle with electricity.

Hermione turned her focus back to Bellatrix.

"You've made a mistake," Hermione said, her voice deadly quiet.

Bellatrix's laughter faltered as Hermione's magic coiled around her, invisible but suffocating. The room darkened, shadows deepening unnaturally, and the vibration grew into a deafening roar. Draco's breath hitched, the sheer force of her power.

Slowly, her hair began to shift, tendrils twisting and sparking like live wires, a tangible manifestation of the power brewing within her. With the magic pulsing, the world seemed to hold its breath, and Draco sensed in his bones that Hermione was no longer the woman he knew.

She was ferocious.

Draco's mind flashed back to Fifth Year—the panic she'd felt over her Divination O.W.L. and how her magic had sparked when she was pushed to her limit. This was different, though. She was beyond fear now, consumed by an unrelenting fire.

With a roar of desperation, Draco acted on instinct alone. He apparated to Theo, shoving him to the floor as the storm erupted.

The surge of raw, untamed magic exploded from Hermione, a violent force that ripped through the air. Draco's senses were overloaded with the shockwave as it slammed into him, throwing him backwards and sending him tumbling off balance.

The ground beneath him vanished.

The sickening lurch in his gut was immediate, primal. Air slammed into his face, cold and sharp, forcing breath back down this throat. Wind roared past his ears, a relentless, deafening howl, drowning out all thought except one: falling.