Houdini
For a few days, Hermione and Draco avoided each other. They knew they had to stay close, but that was it. They didn’t exchange unnecessary words, nor did they seek each other out. They simply remained within proximity, as if an invisible thread kept them tethered together without allowing them to truly connect.
However, when rumors of their supposed breakup began to spread, unwanted attention followed. During Muggle Studies, Leny Winchester, a seventh-year Ravenclaw, approached Hermione with a smug grin.
"Didn’t take you for the passionate type, Granger," he mused, clearly enjoying himself.
Before Hermione could react, Theo stepped in, effortlessly slipping between them like a shadow.
"I’m not sure Draco would appreciate you calling his girlfriend sexy, Winchester," he said with a calm that felt sharper than any threat. "And I wouldn’t advise testing that theory."
The smile he gave was anything but friendly.
Winchester got the message because, after that, he kept his mouth shut. Still, the school came to its own conclusions when, just days later, he suffered a rather unfortunate accident while descending from the Astronomy Tower. He took a spectacular tumble, earning himself a few days in the Hospital Wing under Madam Pomfrey’s watchful eye, followed by additional bed rest until the Skele-Gro mended his badly fractured arm.
Only Harry and Ron had the nerve to confront Draco about it. But the Slytherin responded with nothing more than a look of utter disdain before walking away. Hermione, meanwhile, was too absorbed in her research to pay much attention to the confrontation.
The exhaustion was beginning to show on her face. But she wasn’t the only one. Malfoy looked more worn down with each passing day. The dark circles under his eyes were becoming more pronounced, his usually pristine appearance seemed a little less put together, and while he carried himself with the same arrogance, there was a weight in his expression that hadn’t been there before.
She hadn’t fully realized just how much this was affecting both of them—until that Saturday night.
Hermione had been asleep when a crushing weight settled over her chest. For a brief moment, she couldn’t breathe. The sensation was suffocating, overwhelming. She jolted awake, gasping, but the tightness didn’t fade. A sudden wave of claustrophobia gripped her, making the walls of her dormitory feel unbearably small.
Desperate for space, she slipped out of bed and left as quietly as possible. At first, she sat in the common room, hoping the feeling would pass. But it didn’t. Her feet carried her forward, almost instinctively, guiding her through the darkened corridors of the castle. She wasn’t entirely sure why—until she found herself standing outside the boys’ bathroom on the sixth floor.
Draco was there.
Slumped against the wall, bathed in the dim moonlight filtering through the window.
He was dressed as always—his crisp white shirt, its collar and cuffs a deep charcoal gray, and matching trousers. But unlike usual, his clothes were wrinkled. The top few buttons of his shirt were undone, exposing a hint of his collarbone and chest. In his left hand, he held a cigar wrapped in sleek black paper, its band embossed with gold. Smoke curled from his lips, twisting through the shadows.
"You can come closer, Granger," he murmured without looking at her. "I’m not drinking tonight, so no more mistakes."
"You shouldn’t be out of your common room," she said, folding her arms.
"No one’s going to find out."
"I just did. Anyone could."
Draco let out a humorless chuckle.
"And?"
"And? The Head Boy shouldn’t be smoking in a bathroom in the middle of the night. I don’t know if you used to do this, Malfoy, but you shouldn’t start now."
He scoffed, exhaling another slow stream of smoke.
"Let me guess why you’re here, Granger." His voice was quiet, almost resigned. "You felt something, didn’t you? Something like sadness."
Hermione didn’t answer. What she had felt was something far worse.
Agony.
Draco took another drag, his gaze distant.
"I could tell you," he said, voice low. "But then you’d feel the pain too… and I’m not willing to go through that again."
She didn’t need to ask what he meant. She already knew.
Charlie. Aurélie.
It was then that Draco reached inside his robes and pulled out a parchment—his essay on Manticores. But it wasn’t the grade that had caught his attention.
It was the message written in runes beside it.
Aurélie.
He had to summon every ounce of self-control to keep his expression unreadable when he saw it. Because the message, though deceptively simple, meant something only he would understand:
"The willow bends with the wind, but it never breaks. Meet me beneath its shadow before the third chime."
"I should assume you were at the Boxing Willow and saw them together?"
"Yes to the second, no to the first" Draco continued to explain
"At the manor, there was a path lined with poplars. I used to mistake them for willows until Aurélie made me see I was wrong. She explained that the difference lay in the trunk’s lines—poplars have more transverse ones, while willows always run parallel and intersect. She insisted it was important to know the difference for potions."
Hermione slowly stepped closer to where Draco was sitting. She wore ochre-striped pajamas that covered everything but her feet, hands, and head. For some reason, that made her feel safe. Draco looked at her and smirked.
"You’d be a Willow, Granger."
She glanced down at herself and immediately understood, which made her laugh as she sat beside him. She thought the smell of the cigar would make her nauseous, but instead, it carried the scent of rosemary—surprisingly pleasant. Draco continued his story.
"So, I waited from two to four in the morning yesterday, but no one showed up. I decided to try again tonight, so I was there again, in the eastern part of the poplar grove by the Quidditch pitch, from two in the morning onward."
"I thought it would finally be my chance to talk to her alone."
Hermione looked at him in astonishment. Was Draco Malfoy really sharing something so intimate about Aurélie with her so openly?
"But guess who got there first."
Hermione felt a sting behind her eyes, but she took a deep breath, controlling herself before she let any emotions slip. She remembered how Harry had taught her to compartmentalize, so she locked away anything Draco might sense—anything that might make him decide it wasn’t worth feeling pain again.
She answered with forced indifference. "Charlie."
Draco looked at her. "Ten points to Gryffindor." He took another drag from his cigar, now nearly finished.
"Indeed, Professor Weasley showed up. And Granger, I have to ask—what the hell do brilliant witches like Aurélie and you see in a guy like him?"
Hell must have been freezing over because Draco Malfoy had just given her a compliment. He seemed to realize it, too, shifting uncomfortably before stubbing out his cigar against the tiled floor. Then, as if trying to move past what he had just said, he quickly resumed his story, forgetting he had sworn not to tell her.
"Aurélie arrived… and I never thought a woman like her, always so composed, could throw herself at him and kiss him as if her life depended on it."
Hermione felt a sharp pang in her chest—distant, muted, but still there.
Draco didn’t say another word. Hermione felt the need to fill the silence.
— I suppose the message was clear to you… and now it is to me as well. They’re together.
Draco met her gaze, and for a moment, Hermione could have sworn she saw pity in his eyes. Pity—and something else. Held-back tears. Tears enough for both of them.
— I’d give you more points, Granger, but I’m not a professor… just Head Boy.
Those words hit Hermione deep. Not because they were cruel, but because she understood what lay beneath them. Draco belittled his own title because he wished he were in his professor’s place—just as she wished she were in Aurélie Dumont’s. The confusion of the past days, her relentless search for a way to break their pact, had been an enormous distraction. But maybe not for Draco.
For a moment, she allowed herself to feel compassion for him. For the boy in front of her, more vulnerable than she had ever imagined Draco Malfoy could be. She stepped closer, hesitated, then lifted a hand toward his face. She faltered, but Draco didn’t pull away. If anything, he leaned into her touch.
Hermione took the chance. She cupped his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin, the tension in his jaw. She looked into his deep, unreadable eyes—were they slightly bloodshot? Had he been crying? Maybe. His forehead rested against hers, and in that tiny space, they shared the same breath, the same unspoken sorrow.
Hermione broke the silence.
— We agreed not to be each other’s solace… but we also promised to be unbreakable. To hold each other up.
— When everything else fails — Draco finished for her, his gaze locking onto hers.
Hermione didn’t look away.
— I don’t know why someone you love that much would hurt you so deliberately, Malfoy… but you shouldn’t have to go through that. No one should.
His warm breath, carrying that subtle scent of rosemary, wrapped around her again, and for a moment, Hermione thought about kissing him. It seemed Draco had reached the same conclusion because his lips brushed against hers with unexpected softness, as if giving her the chance to pull away. But Hermione didn’t.
“I don’t know if we should…” she whispered, her voice barely audible against his mouth. “We don’t know how this pact works. What if it binds us even more? Dumbledore told me emotions play a fundamental role in this kind of bond, and I… I don’t want to get confused.”
Draco let out a low, husky chuckle, his breath still lingering on her lips.
“I thought all Gryffindors were brave.”
He pulled back just enough to meet her eyes, his tone full of challenge, as if daring her to take the next step.
“I’ve thought about it, and I think we should both look for answers. I’ll help you research, Granger. After all, this involves both of us.”
His hand slid to her waist, pulling her onto his lap effortlessly, straddling his thighs. Hermione held her breath, feeling the warmth of his body through the thin fabric of her pajamas. Draco leaned in even closer, his lips brushing the curve of her jaw as he murmured:
“For now, I don’t think we have much to worry about. The only thing we know for sure is that being together feels good. And if that’s the case… why not give in to it?”
Before Hermione could answer, he tightened his grip on her, and that’s when she felt it. Something hard pressed right between her legs, sending a rush of heat straight to her core. A small gasp escaped her lips, and Draco noticed.
His hold on her tightened. His lips grazed her neck in a barely restrained touch.
“Do you know what happens when a Malfoy wants something, Granger?” he murmured against her skin, his voice low and thick.
Hermione swallowed hard, her heart pounding in her chest.
“They take it.”
Draco captured her mouth in a kiss, this time without hesitation, without reluctance.
The kiss consumed them. There was no logic or caution, just heat and skin and the pressure of their bodies seeking each other in the darkness. Draco held her as if afraid she would disappear. Hermione, against her better judgement, let him hold her.
But then a distinct shiver ran through her. It wasn't desire. It wasn't fear. It was magic.
A tingle ran down her spine, like static electricity, as if the whole room held its breath. Draco felt it too. He tensed under her hands, his grip on her waist tightening.
And suddenly, like an echo in his own mind, the phrase she herself had uttered that night formed with impossible sharpness: 'If love does not want us, may it not find us.
Hermione stopped abruptly, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Draco didn't let go, but his expression had darkened.
"Did you hear that?" She muttered, realising immediately that she hadn't spoken out loud.
Draco stared at her.
"And you whisper very sexily, Granger, almost as if you were in my head"
That calmed her down... for a moment. Perhaps it was just a vague memory. She allowed herself to breathe, to relax a little. Still... why those words? Why this moment?
No. It couldn't be.
"This… this isn’t just attraction." The thought slams into her. "Since when do I even like him?"
The statement slipped out before she could stop it. And Draco, who was watching her without her moving an inch from her lips, which remained sealed in a thin line, understood. He can read her mind.
Her expression changed. A wry grin crept across his face, classic Malfoy arrogance peeking through even at such an absurd moment.
"I always knew it, Granger. Sooner or later you'd fall for it.'
Hermione was about to retort with indignation, but then a foreign thought assaulted her. It's not hers. She hasn't provoked it. It just bursts into her mind as if it were her own.
Damn, his mouth is perfect. And those bloody legs... will he get angry if I touch his bum?
Draco's grip on her thighs tightened, his hands barely slipping upwards.
Hermione froze. Her first instinct was to deny she'd heard that, but the blush on her cheeks gave her away. Draco noticed.
His eyes narrowed, analysing her carefully, and then he understood.
'Can you hear me?'
The answer was in his expression. Hermione pursed her lips, but it was too late.
A crooked, mischievous smile was forming on her lips.
'Looks like I'm not the only one falling, Malfoy.
Her Gryffindor bravery was short-lived.
An uncomfortable silence enveloped them as the weight of what they had just discovered settled between them. It's not just a pact. It's not just attraction. It's something more. Something that should never have happened.
Hermione brought a hand to her forehead, drumming her fingers against her temple as if to block it out.
-Merlin... this is a disaster.
Draco, on the other hand, leaned his head back against the sink and let out a low, almost amused laugh.
-I don't know, Granger. -I could get used to this.
Of course you could,Hermione thought sarcastically, relieved that the initial sadness of the scene had dissipated.
And Draco smiled even wider. Because he'd heard her.
The following week, Draco resumed his usual routine of sharing some meals with Hermione and sitting next to her in class. There was no more awkwardness between them; in fact, having people around acted as an unspoken barrier that kept them from losing control. Because when they were alone, restraint had become a lost cause—and they both enjoyed that freedom more and more shamelessly.
Between classes, they often headed to the library in search of answers. All of Hogwarts watched their unlikely alliance with curiosity. Hermione Granger spending hours buried in books was nothing new, but seeing Draco Malfoy there with her was another matter entirely. He rarely set foot in the library unless absolutely necessary, accustomed to having any book he needed sent to him from Malfoy Manor within hours. However, in this particular case, he preferred to avoid unnecessary explanations to his parents. His mother knew the Hogwarts curriculum inside and out, and if she found out he was researching magical pacts, she might wrongly assume he was considering a marriage contract. Nothing could be further from the truth.
On Tuesdays and Thursdays, their schedules kept them apart—Draco attended Divination alone in the afternoon, while Hermione had Muggle Studies on Thursday mornings. But on Friday, after lunch, fate granted them an unexpected reprieve. A potions class accident left the entire classroom completely unusable.
Apparently, a first-year Hufflepuff had made a catastrophic mistake while attempting to brew a simple Skelegro Potion without supervision. The cauldron exploded with a deafening bang that echoed through the dungeon, spilling a thick, steaming liquid that clung to every surface as if it had a mind of its own. The mess was so disastrous that the classroom was immediately sealed off until further notice, leaving them with an unexpectedly free afternoon.
Draco exchanged a glance with Hermione, and without needing to say a word, they both knew exactly how they were going to spend that extra time.
The library was packed with seventh-year Ravenclaws, all deeply engrossed in preparing for their N.E.W.T.s. Hermione and Draco made their way leisurely to their usual table at the back of the aisle, just before the History of Magic section.
Leny Winchester glanced up, and upon seeing them approach, seemed to shrink into himself. When Hermione greeted him and asked how his arm was doing, the boy lowered his head and buried himself even further in his book, refusing to meet her eyes.
Draco let out a barely concealed smirk, clearly satisfied, and slid a possessive hand around Hermione’s waist for the rest of the walk. A few days ago, that would have infuriated her—but now, for some reason, it didn’t. Maybe it was the damn pact messing with her instincts. Or maybe it was something else entirely.
"Anyone would think you actually like me, Malfoy."
But she didn’t sit down immediately. As she had been doing for the past few days, she waited patiently for Draco to pull out her chair and settle it into place before taking her seat. He did it with the same effortless grace he did everything else, seemingly unaware of the dreamy sighs coming from several witches nearby. Hermione, however, was very aware of them… and she couldn’t deny that she liked it. She kept those kinds of thoughts to herself, saving them for moments when Draco wasn’t watching her so intently, when his storm-grey eyes weren’t scanning her mind as if reading her thoughts before she could even form them.
Draco, for his part, retrieved a quill and a roll of parchment from his sleek black dragonhide bag, embossed with his family crest in silver filigree. He adjusted the sleeves of his robe with practiced ease, unraveled the parchment, and met her gaze with deliberate slowness before answering.
- I do like you, actually.
Hermione felt the heat rise to her cheeks, but she didn’t look away. Not for a second.
"I don’t know when it happened, but it did. I suppose it’s because of the bond"—his mental voice was calm, casual, but there was something in his eyes that betrayed him—"so enjoy it while it lasts. Because it won’t last longer than the pact. Still, at least you’ll be able to add it to your résumé as a noteworthy reference."
He smirked, smug and insufferable. Once, that kind of remark would have set her off. Now? It just amused her.
"That would be a fairly common reference. I’m sure it would appear on several Hogwarts girls’ résumés."
Draco narrowed his eyes slightly, never breaking eye contact.
"No other witch could claim that reference, Granger. You, so far, have been the only one officially recognized as my girlfriend."
Hermione blinked, momentarily thrown off. She hadn’t expected that response. She quickly reeled in her thoughts, grasping for something—anything—to say to hold his gaze.
"I’m not sure Pansy Parkinson would agree with that."
"Pansy has certainly tried, yes. But isn’t it ironic?"—Draco leaned in slightly, resting an elbow on the table—"You, without even trying, accomplished in six weeks what she couldn’t in six years."
Hermione had no response to that. The conversation was over.
Instead, she reached into her bag and pulled out the notes she had taken on Tuesday while Draco had been in Divination. That afternoon’s task was simple: exchange whatever findings they had gathered and draw their own conclusions. After thoroughly dissecting Invisible Bonds: Magic of Pacts and Fate and finding little else of use, they had decided to expand their search to related texts.
Hermione cast a Muffliato and, wasting no time, began:
—This week, I've found relevant information in several ancient texts about magical binding pacts. I couldn’t find any other exact references to fatum ligare, which worries me because it means we did something rare enough not to have any documented precedents aside from Edgar Thorne’s book. However, in Unbreakable Vows and Blood Pacts by Marius Greaves, it’s mentioned that any magical pact with a clause restricting emotions—especially one that denies love as a destiny—creates an adverse reaction in the magic of those involved. According to the author, ‘magic does not understand abstract prohibitions, only true intentions’, meaning we cannot deceive it, not even ourselves. And yet…
—And yet, the pact itself protects us from love because that’s precisely what we denied and swore not to accept, recognize, or seek as our fate, - Draco finished for her.
—Exactly, - Hermione concluded. - Which puts us in a difficult position. If emotions, as the Headmaster mentioned, make the bond volatile in any direction, we’ll have to pay close attention to any changes, particularly in our magic. And, most importantly, Malfoy, we will have to be completely honest with each other about how we feel. It will be extremely uncomfortable, but it's the safest way to determine what path we should take.
Draco looked at her with something close to terror, as if he wanted to hide something but had just been explicitly forbidden from doing so. He had already admitted to Hermione that he was attracted to her, thinking that would be enough and he wouldn’t have to make himself any more vulnerable. He had hoped he could control his emotions and keep them at bay if they involved anything romantic. The only reason he had dared to admit his attraction was because he had reached a similar conclusion to the one Hermione had just voiced. And yet, that single confession had already cost him several sleepless nights, wondering how to say it. He thought about all this while staring at the parchment in front of him. When he realized he had been silent for too long, he pretended to search for a specific line and began speaking.
—I understand, Granger. In fact, I found a similar reference in The Unwritten Rules of Binding Magic by Callidora Yaxley. There’s an entire chapter dedicated to how shared magic adapts to the emotional state of those connected by it. The author explains that when two wizards are linked by a binding spell and experience strong emotions—positive or negative—their magic responds accordingly. Anger, for example, can destabilize the bond, while mutual acceptance reinforces it. The concerning part is that repressing emotions can cause ‘magical dissonance,’ which could explain our instability when…
He abruptly stopped. Finishing that thought would mean acknowledging that the instability they had experienced early in their pact—what they had believed to be an initial strengthening of their magic—was, in fact, just that: instability in their magical cores. At the beginning, he had forced himself to remain detached, bound by the pact’s unspoken rule: never to accept love in any form. But resisting even the smallest attraction to Granger—desire, admiration—was precisely what had triggered the uncontrolled reactions.
Hermione placed her quill on Draco’s parchment, a clear sign that she had noticed his hesitation and would not let it slip by unnoticed. And indeed, she didn’t.
—I know what you were going to say, Malfoy. And I don’t like admitting this either, but yes, you do attract me. And resisting it—because that’s how most relationships that lead to love usually begin—was what initially made our magic so unstable. But the fact that it’s you makes it easier for me.
—Why? - he asked, dreading the answer, expecting her to say she could never fall for someone like him. But to his discomfort, her response was the complete opposite.
—Because you would never fall in love with a Muggle-born witch. That gives us, let’s call it, a strategic advantage in this whole mess. For the first time, I feel relieved by all the disgust I once caused you—and perhaps still do—because of my blood status.
He wanted to tell her that whatever disgust he had felt was practically nonexistent now. Whatever the reason—even if it was a result of the pact—that barrier had vanished entirely. The fact that he found her attractive only proved that it had dissolved completely. Yet, he chose to say something else instead.
—Well, you would never fall for someone who’s sabotaged you for six years either.
Hermione held his gaze. He could read her thoughts, so he knew there was no point in lying to him.
—You and I are too different, Malfoy. We are not driven by the same emotions.
That was enough for them both to return to their notes. Hermione cleared her throat and continued.
—On another note, the most interesting thing I found was in Magic and Symbiosis: How Emotions Affect Enchantments by Beatrice Bagshot. She suggests that binding magic, when not resisted, finds a natural equilibrium. If two people are connected by a spell like ours, but instead of fighting their emotions, they accept them—or at least don’t actively deny them—the magic responds harmoniously. In other words, every time we surrender to the attraction instead of repressing it, the pact stops punishing us.
—That would explain what we’ve experienced, - Draco added, his gaze turning suggestive.
Hermione was surprised by how easily Malfoy could make her laugh now, whether through his insinuations or those ridiculous looks of his.
—Exactly. We’ve both accepted that we’re attracted to each other, and we haven’t put up a barrier against it—at least not recently. But the week before our encounter in the bathroom was exhausting for me. Maybe for you as well. Even though our magic had likely started stabilizing, I felt drained all the time, as if maintaining that stability was sapping all my energy. Did you feel the same?
Draco only nodded before expanding on her idea.
—That’s why every time we tried to stick strictly to the pact—every time we pretended we didn’t feel anything for each other and resisted our mutual attraction—there was instability. But when we gave in, even momentarily, the magic stabilized. No loss of control, no repercussions… just an inexplicable synchronization.
Hermione seemed pleased that they had reached the same conclusion, yet her frown suggested otherwise. Draco noticed.
—Spit it out, Granger. There’s a ‘but,’ isn’t there?
Hermione sighed.
—The problem is, that doesn’t mean we’re safe. According to Bagshot, if the binding magic finds a new balance based on an emotion we haven’t fully recognized yet, the effect can be misleading. We might just be shifting the true consequence of the pact instead of avoiding it altogether.
Draco, if we keep going like this, we might just be delaying the inevitable. We don’t know what will happen if the pact breaks completely. But what we do know is that our magic no longer punishes us when we get close, when we stop denying whatever is happening between us.
—I don’t see the problem, Granger. We’ve already accepted that we like each other.
—Don’t you find that ironic? she countered. —We made this pact to stop feeling. But it turns out the only way to avoid its effects… is to do the exact opposite. It’s as if the pact itself—or the way we built it—completely contradicts itself. And if that’s the case, even if we don’t fall in love, we can’t be eternally bound by mere attraction. Sooner or later, you might fall for someone else… or want to.
Hermione lowered her gaze for a second, a sharp pang in her chest before she forced herself to continue.
—I understand perfectly well what’s expected of you. That you’ll marry, fill your manor with little pureblood Malfoys… something I could never give you.
She shifted uncomfortably, realizing too late what she had just implied. Not just marrying him, but having children with him. She cleared her throat quickly, trying to banish the image before it became too vivid.
—And I’ll want the same, — she went on, her voice steadier than she actually felt.
—To fall in love with someone, to build a life with them. So what happens then, Malfoy? Do we become secret lovers, sneaking around just to keep our magic stable?
Draco looked at her with an unreadable expression.
—Don’t you dare joke about that, Malfoy. This is serious.
But Draco wasn’t joking.
He averted his gaze to the library shelves, fixing his eyes on the spines of the books as if the answer to his growing unease was hidden there. He tried to keep his face impassive, but his mind betrayed him.
Hermione was talking about loving someone else. About building a life without him in that role—not as the one she loved, but perhaps as a hidden, fleeting affair? As if that possibility was the most natural thing in the world.
And something dark and razor-sharp twisted inside his chest.
It was a visceral, raw thought, sinking into his mind with such force that it left him breathless.
Jealousy.
A suffocating sensation, strange yet unbearable, like a blade twisting inside his stomach at the mere thought of her with someone else. He didn’t want her for himself. He shouldn’t. But he couldn’t stand the image of her lips forming someone else’s name with the same intensity she used when she called his—when she sighed against his mouth between kisses.
The thought was absurd. Unacceptable.
And yet it was there, burning his skin, sinking into his bones.
And he…
He had never even considered being her secret lover. Because somewhere in the remnants of his former disdain—that once visceral, now nonexistent contempt—he knew Hermione Granger didn’t deserve to be anyone’s secret.
She was brilliant.
Sharp.
Far too attractive for his own goddamn good.
And all of it crashed down on him like an absurd, crushing revelation.
He couldn’t let himself get more tangled in this. He wouldn’t.
—I need to go,— he muttered abruptly, stepping away, tension stiffening his shoulders.
Hermione frowned.
—What?
But Draco was already turning away, walking off with firm strides, as if he needed to escape something he couldn’t quite understand.