The first of the many Malfoy perspective
Note: This takes place a few weeks before Hermione’s wedding with Nott up until the bond itself but from Malfoy’s perspective.
Pain has always been a constant companion of Draco Malfoy. It accompanied him through the years of bearing his surname and so forth. It was nothing new to him. In fact, it had always been a part of his life. He'd learned it young, the sharp burn of the Dark Mark searing into his skin at sixteen, to the mocking perusal of the Dark Lord in his mind. But this—this was different. It wasn’t the usual sting of punishment, nor the lingering ache of old injuries. This pain was raw, relentless, as if something inside him was slowly unraveling. His body screamed with every movement, and no position and potion seemed to ease the tightness in his chest or the throb in his limbs. It was constant, gnawing at him like a hunger he couldn't satisfy. Only that hunger, it craves his body.
But what made it worse than the physical pain was this longing. It is a quiet ache that wormed its way into his chest, settling in his bones like an old wound that refused to heal. He hadn't asked for it, hadn't expected it. It was new. And it burned in ways he wasn’t used to.
Draco has been feeling weak. He had been for a few days prior. He did not understand how or why it started. It just did and every day, it gets worse. It has been weeks since he has seen Granger. Good riddance he thought but he knew deep down that he wanted her to retract her marriage. But who is he to ask? He is just a former death eater, the youngest one at that, not something to be flaunted in the first place.
The truth was, he missed her. Not just her presence—the way her words would cut through him, the way she could make him feel, even if he hated it.
Pain, he thought. He should have been used to it by now, but this—this wasn’t something he could simply endure.
------
Something's wrong with Draco. Could it be the dark magic manifesting late?" Narcissa asked, her voice laced with concern, the lines of her face tight with worry.
Lucius glanced at her, his expression more composed, though there was a flicker of unease in his eyes. "Don't be ridiculous, Cissa," he said, his tone a little sharper than usual, but placating, nonetheless. He reached out to gently touch her arm. "You worry too much."
Narcissa recoiled, her gaze hardening. "He became the Dark Lord’s favorite plaything, Lucius. Forgive me if I have reason to wonder if something dark and twisted is taking root in him. He was exposed to too much too young."
Lucius exhaled slowly, his brow furrowing. He hated seeing her like this, but he understood her fears. "You know I don't mean it like that," he said, his voice softer now, though still firm.
Narcissa's lips curled in frustration. "There were cases," he bit out, "when emotional pain manifested as physical suffering."
Lucius stood silently for a moment; his gaze fixed on the window as he let her mull over his words. "Perhaps... perhaps," he began, carefully choosing his words, "his failure to bring the wolf propaganda into fruition has taken a toll on him." He paused, a tinge of disappointment flickering across his features. "The disappointment, the feeling of failure—and let us not forget, he refused any help we offered."
He rubbed his temples, exhaustion creeping into his voice. "We did what we could, but Draco... he has always wanted to prove himself without us, even when we tried to ease the burden."
Narcissa looked at him, eyes wide with concern. "But Lucius..."
Lucius wrapped his arms around his wife. But as he does, doubt lingered in his mind. This is not the usual pain he's been enduring. It's something else.
_______
Lucius, we must do something. He’s not getting any better."
Lucius looked at her, his expression hardening. "I’ve already contacted a healer in France. It seemed to me that healers here in Britain are a vast of imbeciles. They simply do not have the capacity to help. Perhaps healers from other places can."
Narcissa’s gaze darkened with worry. "And what if they can’t? What if it’s too late?"
Lucius took a deep breath. “We will do whatever it takes, Cissa." He hesitated. "If dark magic is truly at play, we may have to consider... other options."
Narcissa’s breath caught. "Other options?"
Lucius met her gaze, his voice steady. "If necessary, we do what we must to save him… whatever it is."
-----
Lucius apparated to China, to say that the French healer was a disappointment is an understatement.
"Lucius was speaking to an interpreter, hoping to convey his words clearly to the Chinese healer. However, the communication still wasn’t working as intended."
-----
Even the southeast Asian approach was deemed to be ineffective.
Narcissa bowed gracefully to a tanned, bald-headed man draped in vibrant, colorful robes. They had just completed whatever ritual or treatment the people from the East performed for the sick.
-----
"It has been weeks," Narcissa murmured, her voice tight with worry. "Lucy, nothing is working. What do we do? We have tried everything—what is happening?"
Lucius drew a long, tired breath. "Even Zabini has no answers. The Western healers are imbeciles. Eastern medicine only gave us false hope." His words were cold, resigned.
Narcissa’s brow furrowed. "I have been writing to Zabini, speaking with him. He might have contacts, but—"
"But what, Lucy?" Narcissa interrupted, his tone sharp. "He said they could include Draco in a trial for testing.Nothing is sure yet but he could benefit from it"
"You mean like a lab rat?" Narcissa’s voice trembled with disbelief.
Lucius met her gaze, his expression unreadable. "What choice do we have—"
But before he could finish, both of them felt it. The air shifted, thickening around them. The change was not subtle, it was undeniable, like an invisible wall had been moved.
"The barriers weren’t breached. Had there been any such entries, the Manor will activate its magic" Lucius said, his voice calm but tinged with concern.
"But there's something," Narcissa said, her voice low. "I felt it too."
Both heads of the family stood in silent thought. The magic of the manor had always been a stronghold, a constant force of protection. It was why the Dark Lord had taken refuge there. Immoveable. A deterrent to any threat. But now, it seemed as though something had altered that bond. The magic of the house was changing, almost as if it were pulling away from Lucius, from them.
Lucius could feel it—a slow drain, as though the manor itself was severing its connection to him, its allegiance shifting. The familiar hum of the house had become charged, electric.
Before they could ponder the threat further, the unmistakable sound of stomping footsteps echoed through the halls, drawing their attention.
_____
To their utter shock, or perhaps their impending doom—Lucius couldn't quite decide which—he saw Hermione Granger, completely unhinged, lurching toward them. But to their surprise, she did not go straight to them. No, she was heading straight for the room where Draco was.
It was as if her very presence should have been enough to turn them back, to halt whatever madness had overtaken her. But instead, she kept moving, undeterred, and without a second thought, she stepped inside the room where Draco lay.
-----
Narcissa had always heard of Hermione Granger’s brilliance but seeing it in action was an entirely different experience. Granger's incantations were fluid, her wand movements deliberate and commanding in a way that Narcissa had never witnessed before. Unfamiliar objects floated effortlessly around her, swirling with an energy that felt almost otherworldly. Even Granger herself seemed to defy gravity, hovering as she moved with precision, her eyes fixed solely on Draco, her determination palpable. There was no other word for it.
Yet, as Narcissa watched in awe, something else caught her eye. The stark pallor of Granger’s skin, almost ghostly, contrasted sharply with the vibrant energy around her. The dark shadows beneath her eyes were deep, like indelible marks of sleepless nights, and her breath came in ragged, uneven gasps, as though she were struggling to draw in air. There was a tremor in her hands, a silent testimony to the toll this magic was taking on her. Narcissa barely moved, her instinct to intervene rising in her chest, but before she could act, Granger whispered softly to herself, her voice faint and distant, “He’s okay... he’s okay.” The words hung in the air, fragile and broken, like a silent plea to herself.
And then, as though the sheer weight of the magic had finally claimed its toll, Hermione crumpled to the ground. Narcissa’s instincts flared, but Lucius was quicker. His hands were steady, firm, as he caught the young witch before she hit the floor.
Narcissa stood frozen, her gaze fixed on the figure before her in her husband’s arm. The once-imposing image of Granger—the brilliant, determined woman who had defied all odds—now lay fragile and broken.
Her mind raced. Should they call the healers again? Yes, of course, they should. The urgency was sharp, like a cold weight pressing on her chest. She glanced at Lucius, and without speaking, the decision was clear. The healer would be needed. Granger’s condition had crossed the Manor’s threshold, and it may be rooted into something far more serious than her magic could handle. Not to mention, the Manor’s security could be lethal to outsiders entering without permission. She must make haste and that she did.