Bonds and Boundaries
Back at the manor, she didn’t even realize how she had gotten there. It was her first time visiting this place after years. It was almost tragic, really. Draco had been planning to give her a proper tour, to show her the grandeur of the estate, especially the library—a place that held so much history and meaning to him. How he and his mother made an effort to refurbish and revamp the place where Bellatrix tortured her. But now, as they stood there in the cold, imposing halls, he could feel the weight of disappointment settle over him. What had just transpired between them—whatever it was, whatever she had chosen—had drained the excitement right out of him.
"You’re considering it," he observed.
"I am," she answered contemplatively.
"What of it? I'll gain a lot by marrying him," she reasoned, her voice steady.
"If you're going to do something stupid, at least be honest, Granger. You're doing it for that weasel," he said, irritation lacing his words.
"He’s my friend," she retorted, her voice laced with a hint of irritation.
"He is also your lover," Draco shot back, his tone sharp with the familiar bite that only he could manage. Sweet Bloody Salazar, he thought. He had been goading her, trying to provoke a reaction—some sign, some slip, anything to confirm whether she and the Weasel were still lovers. Yet, to his frustration, no response came. Not even the usual defensive reply. It seemed he wouldn't get one at all.
His desperation bubbled beneath the surface, forcing him to wait for an answer, to hope for a denial, but silence hung heavy between them. No words came. And for the first time in years, Draco wanted to kill a man again with his bare hands. How he would love to strangle that weasel.
Instead, he looked at her and said, "It seems my part here is done," Draco continued, his tone cool. "Granger, it’s been a pleasure. I’ll leave you to it. Doesn’t seem like there’s anything left for me here."
"It’s been lovely working with you," he added.They stayed there, standing in front of each other, the silence stretching longer than either of them anticipated. Draco didn’t know who moved first or who left first, but as he stood in the empty space where their confrontation had just taken place, the manor—once a symbol of pride and legacy—now felt hollow in his eyes. The walls, which had always echoed with history and power, now seemed cold, indifferent, as if they too had become tired of the games and the weight of unspoken truths. The air was thick, charged with everything they hadn’t said, and as he walked away, he couldn’t shake the feeling that something crucial had shifted, something irreversible.
All the stories, the inherited wisdom he’d once been eager to share to her, seemed irrelevant now. He promised to show her his place a few days back. But in the wake of their conversation, he realized it wasn’t the manor or the library that mattered. It was something deeper, something he couldn't touch with a tour or a well-crafted gesture.
With a sigh, he turned away, the excitement of showing her this place fading into the shadows.
—-------
After that, she never heard from Draco. Why would she? She was getting married to Theo Nott, after all. And the House of Malfoy probably did not see any cause to this.
Still, every so often,her mind would drift. It wasn’t something she could control. Draco’s absence wasn’t just a gap—it was an ache, one she stubbornly refused to acknowledge. She’d catch herself thinking about him, wondering where he was, what he was doing, but then she’d shake it off. It was foolish to dwell. After all, they weren’t anything. Fuck, she hates feeling this way.
—---
The bond to her surprise was actually a very tedious process. She did not expect that it would take days. Although she admittedly tried to postpone the event as much as she could, still, it’s just as tiring compared to muggle marriages; to think that this was meant to be as simple as dropping some blood. How difficult and technical could it be? Preposterous.
—---
Honestly, she cannot be bothered to choose the perfect venue and what not. She just gave all the freedom to Nott. In retrospect, it may not have been a good idea. He apparated her into what she assumes to be one of his properties.
Hermione’s heart skipped a beat when Theo Nott’s words cut through the tension in the room. The weight of them hung in the air, thick and suffocating.They are here for the bonding. Marriage. This is awful. Ron stands as their witness. Some ritual of sorts and this will be done.
Hermione is not herself. Her eyes blank. Her mind numb. It was Theo’s words that brought her back.
"The legal binding is not working. You are already bonded," Theo said, his voice barely more than a whisper, but the gravity of the statement sent a chill down Hermione’s spine.
Her mind struggled to keep up with the sheer impossibility of what he was saying. Bonded? She couldn’t even fathom how that could be possible. She hadn’t been in any kind of magical contract or agreement with anyone, let alone bonded.
"Impossible," she murmured, the words slipping from her mouth before she could fully process them. "Ron and I never—" Her breath caught in her throat as a sharp, painful tug shot through her chest. It felt as though something deep inside her was being pulled in a way she couldn’t control.
Theo’s eyes, which had been cool and composed moments before, now flickered with something else—concern? Worry? It was subtle, but it was there, unmistakable. He didn’t seem detached now, not at all. He was watching her closely, his expression tight with anxiety.
"Your bond is hindering the traditional procurement of our marriage," Theo said, the words sharp, but there was an urgency to his tone that Hermione hadn’t expected. He wasn’t just stating facts. He was watching her, waiting for her to understand, but she was too lost in the confusion and pain to make sense of it all.
Hermione’s hands shook, and she took a step back, trying to steady herself, separating the pain and compartmentalizing but it was impossible. Her heart pounded painfully in her chest as the unfamiliar, painful sensation gripped her again. "What do you mean?" she whispered, her voice coming out broken. "Stop it! Do something.”
Theo’s gaze softened as he stepped closer to her, and for a brief moment, he looked almost... worried. The cold, calculated persona he often projected was gone, replaced by someone who seemed genuinely concerned for her well-being.
"It’s not that simple," he said quietly, almost as if he were talking to himself, but his voice still carried the weight of the situation. "The bond… It’s old. Ancient. And it’s sacred. This marriage through bond doesn’t just disregard something like that."
Hermione’s mind was spinning together with her vision. She didn’t understand any of it. How could she be bonded to anyone when she didn’t remember such a bond existing? She hadn’t agreed to anything—had she?
She swallowed hard, feeling a cold sweat break out across her forehead. "What are you saying?" she demanded. "I don’t remember… I don’t know who I’m bonded to! How could this be happening?”
Theo’s face tightened, his jaw set. "The bond," he began again, his tone softer now, "If I sever the ties tying us, the power of the bond might bring you to him.. Or her. At this point, we have no idea. This happens rarely"
"Then… what do I do?" she asked, her voice desperate. The pain in her chest, in her limbs, in her head, everywhere, anywhere. Whatever it is, it was becoming unbearable, and it felt like she couldn’t breath. She reached out, her hands trembling as she tried to steady herself. "Please, just tell me."
Theo’s eyes softened, but he didn’t look away. "I’m trying to help," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The bond is pulling you in a direction you can’t control. We can cut whatever it is that’s binding us but your body will follow the bond. Are you ready for that? It could be just as dangerous.”
He explained with fervent he rarely does. Hermione’s head spun. The thought made her stomach lurch. She have to do to make it stop?
Ron, who had been standing quietly behind her, suddenly stepped forward, his fists clenched. "What do we do? You have to stop this. Please, Theo."
Theo's gaze flickered to Ron, and for the briefest moment, Hermione could see a flash of something in his eyes. It was more than just an annoyance. It was... concern. Concern for both of them.
And with that Theo Nott recited an incantation or a spell or whatever Ron nor Hermione cannot decipher and with the blink of an eye, Hermione was lost. No not lost, apparated. Somewhere, they had no idea where.
—---
The world blurred, and her surroundings shifted violently. She barely managed to steady herself before her feet touched the cool stone floor. She glanced around, disoriented, and realized with a shock that she was no longer in Theo’s room wherever that is..
The familiar surroundings, the cold marble floors, the distant echoes of her past—they all hit her like a flood. The pull was stronger now. Unmistakably, undeniably, stronger. It led her forward, a magnetic force she couldn’t resist. It was like the very air was charged with magic, thick with the invisible bond that tethered her. As she goes closer, the pain subsides a little.
She didn’t know how, but her feet carried her forward, pulling her toward the one place she had never expected to return. But it felt and looked different.
As she neared the door, her heart thundered in her chest. She didn’t know how she knew this place, but it felt like the only place where she could find any answers.
Without thinking, she pushed the door open.
And in the room was the man he refused to think about.
Draco.
But this wasn’t the Draco she talked to a few weeks ago. His sharp features were gaunt, his body slumped on the bed as though life had been drained from him. His face was unnaturally pale, almost ashen, his breathing shallow and erratic. His eyes, shut caused by inexplicable pain erupting from his chest travelling to all his nerves.
Hermione’s heart twisted painfully in her chest, and her breath caught in her throat. She rushed forward, her hands trembling as she reached out to touch him. "Draco?" she whispered, her voice breaking.
But he didn’t respond. He didn’t even stir.
And that was when it hit her.
The bond. The connection. The pull that had brought her here—it was all tied to him.
Her chest tightened as realization crashed over her like a wave. The bond was real. And it was him.
But how? Why? And what did this mean?
She didn’t know.
But there was no time for contemplation. She had to act quickly. Hermione moved with precision, not even realizing the sudden presence of the Malfoy parents, her motions almost mechanical. She had done this before—no, she was used to this. She had to be prepared, the war taught her healing techniques, both muggle and wizard.
With practiced efficiency, she cast an enchantment to clear the space, summoning the necessary tools with a swift "Accio." She checked his vitals, scanning for any signs of distress. Everything seemed normal, even perfect. She administered more potions, watching him carefully. But there was something off. His heartbeat—far too fast. His hormones were spiking in ways that didn’t make sense for a normal wizard. Even his neurotransmitters, the very chemicals that governed his brain’s function, were all out of balance.
It didn’t add up. Something was terribly wrong.
What was even more baffling, though, was how everything seemed to revert to normal with each passing second. Hermione had never seen anything like it before. His vitals, his readings—everything that had been so off, now began to stabilize, returning to baseline levels. And with each shift, a sense of relief washed over her. He’s fine, she thought, the words lingering in her mind like a soft echo.
That was all she could think, right before everything went black.