A/N – I know many of my regular readers may not be interested in this pairing but this story has been niggling at me for ages and I have to write it. You have to go where the muse takes you! Anyways, I hope you'll give it a chance. I have at least three more stories lined up so if this isn't for you, there will be more Harry-centric stories to come. Enjoy! And if you have suggestions for future pairings speak up otherwise you're stuck with what comes out of my head!
This story is my attempt at a soulmark or soulmate tattoo AU. I read a soulmark story in a different fandom universe a few years ago and since then have been really wanting to write my own in this universe so have finally decided to give it a go with some different pairings to give myself a challenge :)
This story begins mid Deathly Hallows. Unless otherwise mentioned you can assume a relatively canon story up to that point.
Chapter 1 – A mark of destiny
19 September 1979
Narcissa Malfoy sat before her ornate vanity, silver-handled brush in hand, each stroke through her platinum hair a practiced motion of poise and elegance. The reflection staring back at her was flawless, yet her thoughts wandered far from her appearance. Tonight, the memory of her childhood clung to her like a ghost, drawing her back to a sunlit garden and a moment that had shaped her dreams of the future.
She had been no older than six when she first learned about soul marks.
The garden of the Black family home was meticulously tended, with rows of enchanted roses that shifted colours with the seasons. Narcissa remembered being on her knees beside her eldest sister, Andromeda, plucking weeds from the flowerbeds. Dirt had clung stubbornly to her small hands, but it was the unfamiliar scrawl on Andromeda's upper arm that caught her eye.
'Pardon me, miss' it read, the letters messy and uneven, as though written in haste.
"What's that?" Narcissa asked, her voice small yet filled with curiosity.
Andromeda paused, a soft smile tugging at her lips. "It's my soul mark."
"What's a soul mark?" Narcissa tilted her head, blue eyes wide with wonder.
Andromeda set down her trowel and sat back on her heels. "The mark of your soulmate," she explained patiently. "It's the first thing they'll ever say to you, written on your skin in their handwriting."
"How long have you had it?"
"It's always been there. Mother says I was born with it."
Narcissa frowned, brushing dirt from her skirt. "Why don't I have one?"
"Because your soulmate hasn't been born yet." Andromeda grinned, a teasing glint in her eyes. "I guess you like them young."
The light-hearted remark earned a scowl from Narcissa, but her sister's expression softened when she noticed the worry furrowing the younger girl's brow.
"Don't fret, Cissy. Everyone has a soulmate—or gets one eventually. At least, that's what I think. I've never met any adults that didn't have one."
"How will I know who they are?"
"You don't. Not until they say the words. But," Andromeda added with a knowing smile, "Mother says you'll feel drawn to them. When the moment comes, you won't doubt it for an instant."
"But what if they're far away? What if we never meet?"
Andromeda's eyes clouded briefly, a flicker of doubt crossing her usually confident demeanour. "I suppose magic wouldn't give you the mark if you weren't meant to meet someday." Her smile returned, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "Now come along, Cissy. Father will be cross if we're late for dinner."
That conversation stayed with Narcissa for years. Every morning after that, she'd check her arm, hoping to find the mark that would tether her to someone, the promise of a destined connection.
But as the years slipped by, her arm remained bare.
By the time Narcissa reached her final year at Hogwarts, she had stopped checking her arm. The hope she'd once nurtured had wilted, replaced by a quiet resignation. Soul marks, she told herself, were a fantasy. If she hadn't received hers by now, she likely never would.
And so, when Lucius Malfoy proposed, she accepted. He, too, lacked a soul mark, which seemed fitting—two people without destiny forging their own path together. Marriage was rare in the wizarding world. For most, you simply registered your bond as soon as you met, or when you both became of age if you were lucky enough to meet young. If the bond was found to be authentic it was deemed unbreakable by law, so marriage in essence was pointless. But for those without soul marks, marriage was the only option, and for Narcissa it was a shame she carried every day. The shame of being different – the shame of duty rather than choice.
For the most part their marriage was good, a union of ambition and tradition, they were amiable, and Lucius was always kind to her, but it lacked the fire and passion Andromeda had always spoken of with her muggle-born soulmate, Ted Tonks.
The gentle chime of the grandfather clock in the hall brought Narcissa back to the present. Setting her brush aside, she gazed down at her arm. This morning, something had changed.
Elegant handwriting now graced her pale skin, the loops and curves of each letter perfect, as though written with care. 'I have certainly had better days,' it read. She had traced the words over and over since noticing them, her mind racing with questions.
Her soulmate was younger, much younger. That much was clear. How young would they be when they met? Would they be a child? A teenager? Society would accept the bond—soulmate magic transcended age and circumstance—but Narcissa couldn't help the unease that twisted her stomach.
Still, an undeniable thrill coursed through her. After years of believing she would never have a soulmate, the mark proved otherwise. Somewhere in the world, there was someone just for her.
A soft knock at the door broke her reverie.
"Narcissa," Lucius called from the hall, his tone polite but distant. "I was hoping you would join me this evening."
She closed her eyes briefly, steeling herself. "Of course, Lucius."
Later, as he moved atop her she stared up at the ceiling, allowing her mind to wander, analysing the handwriting and what it might tell her about her soulmate. It's elegant, feminine in nature. She always assumed her soulmate was a man, but maybe it was a woman. She wasn't opposed to the idea. She had her fair share of crushes on her classmates at Hogwarts. A woman's body had always intrigued her.
When Lucius rolled off of her she stood, immediately donning her nightgown and leaving for her own room, relief washed over her when she reached the door. She turned the handle, ready to escape into solitude, but Lucius stopped her with a question.
"I saw the mark on your arm." His voice was neutral, carefully devoid of emotion. "When did that appear?"
"Today."
"I see." He inclined his head, his expression unreadable. "I shall be away on business for the foreseeable future. I will send a letter when I mean to return."
"As you wish."
That was the last time Lucius called upon her. Even when he returned briefly, he remained distant, as though her mark were a silent barrier between them. Narcissa felt nothing but relief.
Five weeks later, Narcissa discovered she was pregnant. She sent Lucius an owl, informing him of the impending birth of his heir. He returned in August, staying long enough to see their son born before leaving once more.
Narcissa named the boy Draco, and from the moment she held him, she knew she'd found a new kind of love. Draco became her world, the centre of her universe. Yet, even as she watched him grow and poured her affection into his upbringing, her heart ached in the quiet moments.
She waited, year after year, for the day she'd hear those fateful words that would change everything.
'I have certainly had better days.'
O – o – o – o
19 September 1997
Hermione Granger traced her fingers over the words on her arm, the elegant script that had been with her for as long as she could remember:
'Are you alright, my dear?'
The handwriting was flawless, each letter flowing into the next like a melody, and it never failed to give her a sense of quiet comfort.
Even now, in the dark, cold woods, as she sat keeping watch while Harry and Ron slept, the mark provided a strange kind of hope. She pulled her sleeve back down, shielding it from the chill, and looked out into the forest. The distant sounds of nocturnal creatures filled the air, but they only heightened the feeling of isolation that had been creeping up on her since they'd gone on the run.
She felt utterly alone.
Hermione wasn't sure when it had started—this aching yearning for the soulmate she had yet to meet. Maybe it was the constant danger, the uncertainty of their mission, or the way Harry still clung to thoughts of Ginny and Ron drifted back toward Lavender every chance he got. The only person she had met in the wizarding world that didn't have a soul mark was Viktor Krum and she was the only one of her friends to not yet meet hers.
Hence why, in the quiet hours, when her mind wasn't busy calculating their next move or deciphering clues about Voldemort's Horcruxes, her thoughts always circled back to the same question.
'Where are you?'
Growing up, her soul mark had been her anchor.
From the moment she was old enough to understand what it meant, she had cherished the words etched into her skin. Her parents had explained the phenomenon with fascination rather than firsthand experience; neither of them had soul marks. "It's an extraordinary gift," her mother had said, running gentle fingers over Hermione's small arm. "It means you're destined to meet someone who will change your life in ways you can't even imagine."
In a world where Hermione often felt out of place, the mark had been her constant. While other children teased her for her bushy hair, her big teeth, or her insatiable curiosity, she'd held onto the knowledge that somewhere out there was someone who would see her as perfect just the way she was.
That belief had carried her through the most difficult moments of her childhood. It had been her guiding star when she stepped onto Platform 9 3/4 for the first time, nervous and unsure. It had given her hope when she'd faced trials that no young girl should have to endure, like being petrified in her second year or standing in the face of danger time and time again.
The only person Hermione had ever truly discussed soul marks with was Viktor. He was a kindred spirit—reserved, thoughtful, and as much of a bookworm as she was. Their friendship had blossomed over shared conversations in the quiet corners of the library. She'd been surprised when he asked her to the Yule Ball. After all, it wasn't common to pursue someone romantically when you knew they weren't your soulmate.
That was how Hermione had learned something that upended her understanding of soul marks in the wizarding world: not everyone was born with one. Nobody in the muggle world had them, but everyone she'd met in the wizarding world did, so Hermione had reached the logical conclusion that soul marks were linked to magic. If you were born with magic you were born with a soul mark, but Viktor explained that they sometimes appeared later, when a soulmate was born or in rare cases, a person might not have a soulmate at all. The possibility hadn't occurred to her before, and it made her realise just how much she didn't know about the magic of soul bonds.
Growing up in the Muggle world had left her with gaps in knowledge, gaps she was determined to fill. She spent the remainder of that school year diving into every book she could find on soul marks and soul bonds, uncovering a fascinating, intricate magic she'd never fully understood.
She learned a few certainties: her soulmate was older than she was and likely a woman, judging by the elegant, flowing script of the words etched on her skin. Beyond that, Hermione knew nothing—no name, no face, not even a whisper of who they might be. She'd never even felt the magnetic pull that books described would surface when in the presence of her destined partner, even if they didn't speak. And now, as she sat in the dim light of the forest, she felt her faith faltering.
She conjured a small cupcake, its frosting a little lopsided but serviceable, and set it on the ground in front of her. It was a tiny indulgence, one she knew she couldn't afford given their limited resources, but she needed something—anything—to remind herself that today mattered.
"Happy birthday to me," she whispered, her voice so quiet it was almost drowned out by the rustling leaves.
She lit a small, flickering candle at its centre with a wave of her wand. The flame illuminated her tired face, casting long shadows across her hollow cheeks. Closing her eyes, she made a wish.
"Please," she whispered into the night. "Let me find them. Let me find my soulmate."
The candle extinguished with a soft puff, leaving only the dim moonlight filtering through the trees. She took a bite of the cupcake, the sweetness doing little to mask the bitterness in her heart.
Her thoughts drifted back to the words on her arm. 'Are you alright, my dear?'
She had imagined a thousand scenarios where those words might be spoken. Was it in a moment of great peril, with her soulmate rushing to her aid? Or perhaps it was something more mundane—a fleeting moment of kindness from a stranger who would change her life forever.
Hermione had always thought it would be extraordinary, that the circumstances leading to those words would be profound and unforgettable. Lately, though, she'd wondered if it could be something simpler.
What if it was a quiet moment? A chance meeting during a lull in the storm of her life?
She shook her head, chastising herself. Dwelling on possibilities was pointless. The reality was that her soulmate felt further away than ever, and there was no guarantee she would meet them at all. She wasn't even sure she believed in destiny anymore—not when every choice they made seemed to teeter on the edge of disaster.
A twig snapped in the distance, jolting her from her thoughts. She drew her wand, her muscles tensing as she scanned the shadows. Her heart pounded in her chest, her mind racing with possibilities—Death Eaters, Snatchers, or worse. But after a tense moment, the forest returned to silence.
She leaned back against the rough bark of a tree, her breath steadying. The words on her arm itched faintly, as though they were alive, whispering promises of a future she couldn't yet see.
Are you alright, my dear?
It was a question that haunted her, not just because she didn't know when she'd hear it, but because she wasn't sure she could honestly answer it.
Was she alright?
She didn't know. All she knew was that she was tired. Tired of running, tired of fighting, tired of waiting for a future she wasn't sure she'd survive long enough to see.
Hermione pulled her knees to her chest, letting the silence of the woods settle around her. She stayed that way until the first rays of dawn broke through the trees, her soul mark hidden beneath her sleeve but her heart still aching for the connection she'd yet to find.
Somewhere, she thought, someone was waiting for her too. They had to be.
But for now, she would keep going. For Harry. For Ron. For the future they were fighting to protect. And maybe—just maybe—for the faint hope that someday, her soulmate would speak the words she had longed to hear her entire life.
O – o – o – o
19 March 1998
Narcissa Malfoy clutched Draco close to her side, her hand trembling against his shoulder as Bellatrix's shrill laughter echoed through the room. She watched in muted horror as Hermione Granger writhed on the cold floor, screams tearing through the air with agonising sharpness. The sound pierced Narcissa's heart, twisting something deep inside her. She had seen Bellatrix torture countless people, but this was different.
Why?
She couldn't explain it. The sight of the young woman's agony was unbearable. Narcissa's instincts screamed at her to act, to make it stop. But fear held her back—fear for Draco, for the fragile safety she had managed to preserve within these walls. So she did the only thing she could: subtle, quiet defiance.
When Bellatrix turned her back, Narcissa whispered pain-reduction charms under her breath, her wand trembling in her hand. She muttered healing spells when no one was looking, easing the worst of Hermione's injuries. It wasn't enough. It was never enough. But it was all she dared to do.
Through Hermione's cries, Narcissa noticed something that surprised her—a resilience, a strength that defied her sister's cruelty. Whatever Bellatrix wanted, Hermione refused to give it, even at great cost to herself. Narcissa couldn't help but feel a flicker of respect for the girl.
'If only I had her bravery,' she thought bitterly.
When Bellatrix finally stalked out of the room, cackling maniacally as she left, Narcissa felt an overwhelming urge to make sure the girl was alright. She knelt beside Hermione, her movements careful but swift. The girl's face was pale, streaked with blood and tears. Her hair clung to her damp forehead, and her body was trembling. Narcissa gently pushed the tangled strands aside, her touch feather-light.
"Are you alright, my dear?" she asked, her voice low and soft.
Hermione's eyes snapped open, wide with surprise and glistening with fresh tears. For a moment, she looked as though she didn't believe what she had heard.
"I have certainly had better days," Hermione croaked, her voice hoarse but tinged with a wry defiance.
Narcissa's breath caught in her throat. The words hit her like a physical blow, resonating deep within her chest. A rush of warmth and clarity washed over her, leaving no room for doubt.
This girl—this brave, clever, bleeding girl—was her soulmate.
For several moments, Narcissa stared into Hermione's eyes, her heart beating wildly as the weight of the revelation settled over her. Emotions she couldn't name swirled within her—shock, longing, and a pull so intense it left her unsteady. It was as though the world had shifted beneath her feet, aligning in a way she had never dared to imagine.
Hermione felt it too. As her gaze locked with Narcissa's piercing blue eyes, a strange, unshakable certainty washed over her, warming her from the inside out. It was unexpected, implausible, yet utterly undeniable.
"This is crazy. You're—you're—" Hermione stammered, her thoughts racing.
"Yes, it's unexpected," Narcissa interjected, her lips curling into the faintest smile, "but it's not unwanted. I've waited far too long for this moment to let you argue with fate now that you're finally here."
Hermione blinked, her initial disbelief fading as a shy smile tugged at her lips. "You're right," she said softly, her voice steadying. "Looks like my birthday wish came true."
Narcissa tilted her head, one elegant brow arching in curiosity. She opened her mouth to ask what Hermione meant, but before she could speak, a noise from the hallway shattered the moment, pulling them both back to the present.
Hermione's heart hammered in her chest as the danger of their situation crashed back into focus. This was real. Narcissa Malfoy was her soulmate, but if Bellatrix found out—if Voldemort found out—they would both be in grave danger.
"She'll be back soon," Hermione whispered urgently, her voice shaking but determined. "She can't know."
Narcissa nodded, her eyes darting toward the door.
"I'll find a way to get you out of here," Hermione continued, her words hurried but resolute. "I promise—I'll think of something."
Narcissa's throat tightened. She wanted to believe Hermione's promise, but fear clawed at her. "I can't leave Draco," she whispered, glancing at her son.
Hermione turned her gaze to Draco, truly seeing him for the first time. The boy looked pale and tense, his eyes filled with fear that he was too proud to voice. In that moment, Hermione understood—Draco was as much a prisoner of this life as his mother was.
A wry, painful laugh escaped Hermione's lips, despite the agony wracking her body. "No mother could," she murmured. With effort, she raised a trembling hand and brushed her fingers against Narcissa's cheek. "We won't leave him behind. I promise."
Narcissa closed her eyes, leaning into the touch for a brief, stolen moment. Her resolve hardened. Whatever happened next, she would protect Hermione and Draco. She had to.
Reluctantly, she pulled away and rose to her feet.
Draco watched his mother return to his side, his expression wary but curious. He didn't say anything, but Narcissa could feel his questions hanging in the air between them. She gave his shoulder a reassuring squeeze, though her mind was anything but calm.
The door swung open with a crash, and Bellatrix reentered the room, her wild eyes gleaming with sadistic glee. She held her cursed knife, its blade gleaming in the dim light.
"Let's see if the Mudblood is feeling more cooperative now," she sneered, descending upon Hermione.
Narcissa turned away, her stomach churning. She couldn't watch as Bellatrix carved into Hermione's arm, spelling out the slur that was meant to define her. The room filled with the sound of Hermione's screams, each one piercing Narcissa's heart like a dagger.
And then, chaos erupted.
Harry and Ron burst into the room, accompanied by the house-elf Dobby. Spells flew in every direction, the air crackling with magic. In the confusion, Narcissa caught one last glimpse of Hermione. Their eyes met, and in that fleeting moment, an unspoken promise passed between them.
And then, just as suddenly as she had come into her life, Hermione was gone.
Narcissa stood frozen, Draco clinging to her side as the dust settled around them. Her heart ached with the weight of everything that had just transpired. Hermione was her soulmate, her one chance at a love she had never dared to hope for.
But now she was gone, and all Narcissa could do was wait.
O – o – o – o
As soon as they reached Shell Cottage, Hermione collapsed onto the floor, her tears coming in uncontrollable waves. Harry didn't hesitate; he scooped her up and carried her to a spare bedroom. She clung to him weakly, her body trembling as the weight of what had happened finally crashed over her.
Harry gently set her on the bed, brushing a stray curl from her face. "It's going to be okay, Hermione," he said softly, though his voice carried the uncertainty of someone who wasn't sure how to fix things.
Hermione didn't respond. Exhaustion pulled her under, and she fell into a fitful sleep, her dreams filled with the echo of her soulmate's voice and the terror of Bellatrix's knife.
When she woke the next morning, sunlight streaming through the small window, her chest still ached, but her mind was clearer. The weight of everything—the pain, the danger, the longing—had crystallised into a single thought.
'I have to save them. I need to be with her.'
She sat up slowly, the determination taking root and spreading through her veins. Narcissa and Draco were trapped in that house of horrors, and it was up to her to get them out. She would not let them suffer a moment longer than they already had.
'But how?'
As she stared out the window, her thoughts drifted to Narcissa: poised, elegant, and heartbreakingly beautiful even in the dim light of Malfoy Manor. She was everything Hermione wasn't. Hermione couldn't expect Narcissa and Draco to move into her parents' modest home—if her parents even remembered her after the Obliviation. They needed a place of their own.
'Oh God,' she thought, panic rising within her. 'How am I going to introduce them? "Hi, Mum and Dad, this is Narcissa, my soulmate. And her son Draco. They're refugees from a war you don't remember."
She shook her head, forcing herself to breathe. 'One step at a time. First, I need to make sure I can support them. Narcissa deserves stability, security… everything.'
But how could she provide that? They needed money—and fast. Hermione's heart pounded as an idea began to take shape. She rummaged through her beaded bag until she found her invention journal, a thick leather-bound book she'd carried since her fourth year.
She locked and charmed the door, cutting herself off from the rest of the house. Her fingers moved with purpose as she did her best to stop the bleeding on her arm and then set to work. She quickly flipped through the pages, scanning the notes and diagrams she'd painstakingly created over the years. Her inventions were untested and theoretical, but right now they were her best hope.
For two days, Hermione threw herself into her work, barely stopping to eat or rest. Knocks came at the door, voices called her name, but she ignored them. Her quill flew across parchment, her wand carving runes into small pieces of enchanted metal.
Her first creation was a cloaking amulet, as effective as Harry's Invisibility Cloak but easier to carry and conceal. Its core was a strand of unicorn hair, wrapped in layers of delicate spellwork that shimmered under her wand's light. It was only a prototype but it would work.
The second invention was a summoning pin, small and unassuming but powerful. It would allow the wearer to transport themselves to anyone connected to the pin, bypassing even the strongest wards and covering vast distances. It was a feat of magic Hermione wasn't sure anyone else had attempted, but desperation gave her the drive to succeed.
Finally, after countless hours of work, she finished.
Hermione sat back, staring at the two items resting on the table. They looked ordinary, but she knew their value was immeasurable. With these, as well as her other inventions, she could not only fund a safe future for Narcissa and Draco, but also ensure they could never be taken from her again.
She tried to smile, to celebrate the victory, but her body refused to cooperate. Exhaustion overwhelmed her, and she collapsed onto the bed, falling into a dreamless sleep almost instantly.
When she awoke, her stomach growled loudly, reminding her of just how long she had gone without food. Stretching stiff muscles, she looked down at her creations and allowed herself a small, triumphant smile.
'This is just the beginning,' she thought.
Next, she would tell Harry and Ron. She would need their help to rescue Narcissa and Draco. And after that… well, she would figure out how to build a life for them.
No matter how impossible it seemed, Hermione was determined. For the first time in months, hope burned brightly in her chest.
O – o – o – o
Narcissa sat by the tall window in the drawing room of Malfoy Manor, her hands clasped tightly in her lap. The room was dark, save for the pale moonlight filtering through the glass, but sleep would not come. Her mind was consumed with thoughts of Hermione Granger—the beautiful, courageous young woman who had endured unspeakable pain at the hands of Bellatrix.
Hermione was her soulmate. Narcissa had felt the bond the moment those words were spoken between them. It was a connection so profound it had left her breathless. And now? Now, Hermione was gone, whisked away with her friends, leaving Narcissa with nothing but the memory of her touch and the faint hope of a promise.
She swallowed hard, trying to suppress the ache in her chest. It was foolish to hope. Foolish to believe she might ever see Hermione again.
A soft cough broke her reverie. Turning, she saw Draco standing in the doorway, his pale features illuminated by the faint light.
"Mother," he said softly, stepping into the room. "I saw the way she touched you. As if you… as if you meant something to each other. What are you not telling me?"
Narcissa hesitated, her fingers trembling as they traced the edge of her sleeve. "Come sit with me, Draco," she said, her voice barely above a whisper as she cast a spell to prevent eavesdropping.
Draco crossed the room and sat beside her. His sharp features were tight with concern, his silver eyes searching hers. Narcissa took a deep breath and pulled back her sleeve, revealing the elegant scrawl of her soul mark.
Draco's eyes widened as he read the words etched onto her skin. "The Granger girl… she's your soulmate."
"It appears so," Narcissa replied, her tone steady, though her heart pounded.
Draco stared at her, as if trying to process the enormity of her confession. "Could it be a mistake?"
"Is yours with Gregory a mistake?" Narcissa countered gently, her gaze soft but unyielding.
Draco shook his head, his jaw tightening. "No. It's not."
"Then you know there can be no mistake," she said. Her voice wavered slightly as she added, "But I don't know what to do, Draco. This changes… everything."
Draco leaned back in his chair, his brow furrowed in thought. "Is there anything we can do?" he asked after a moment. "She's gone, Mother. She left us here. She went off with Potter and Weasley."
Narcissa sighed, the weight of the situation pressing down on her. "She had no choice, Draco. You know that as well as I do. What would Bellatrix have done if she'd known? Or the Dark Lord?"
Draco's expression darkened at the mention of Voldemort, but he nodded. He understood.
They sat in silence for a while, the stillness of the house wrapping around them like a shroud. Finally, Narcissa spoke, her voice trembling with quiet conviction.
"She promised to come back for us."
Draco looked at her skeptically. "Do you really think she will?"
Narcissa turned to him, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. "I have to have hope," she whispered.
Draco studied her for a long moment before offering a small, almost reluctant smile. "Well, she's the smartest witch of her age. If anyone can plan a successful rescue, it's her."
The faintest flicker of a smile touched Narcissa's lips at his words. "Thank you, Draco."
Draco shrugged, his tone light but genuine. "She's… not bad. For a Gryffindor."
Narcissa raised an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. "Tell me more about her."
Draco groaned, rolling his eyes in exaggerated exasperation. "Really, Mother?"
"Yes, really," Narcissa said, her lips curving into a faint smile. "I want to know everything."
With a resigned sigh, Draco began to speak. "She's brave. Stupidly brave, honestly. She'll throw herself into danger without thinking twice if it means protecting someone she cares about."
Narcissa's smile grew as Draco continued, his tone softening as he talked about Hermione.
"She's a bookworm," he admitted grudgingly. "Probably knows more spells than half the professors at Hogwarts. And she has a soft spot for… helpless creatures. She tried to save a bloody house-elf, for Salazar's sake. Oh, and she knows every rule in the book but won't hesitate to break them if she thinks it's the right thing to do."
"She sounds remarkable," Narcissa murmured, her heart swelling with a strange mix of pride and longing.
Draco snorted. "Remarkable, maybe. Infuriating? Definitely."
"She's also loyal," Narcissa said softly, more to herself than to Draco.
"Yeah," Draco admitted. "Loyal to a fault. Potter and Weasley would probably be dead ten times over without her."
Narcissa closed her eyes, letting Draco's words wash over her. Hermione was everything she had imagined her soulmate would be—and so much more.
And she had promised to come back.
For the first time in what felt like years, Narcissa allowed herself to have hope that something better might be waiting for her.