The bond... again
The Malfoy matriarch was so focused on nursing Hermione back to health, she hardly noticed when the young woman began to stir.
Hermione's eyes fluttered open, and confusion clouded her mind. She had no idea where she was—this place was unfamiliar. She would have remembered if she’d been here before, especially if it was where she had been bonded. It took a while for the fragments of her memory to fall into place. Theo. Their bond. The bond. All of it. A surge of panic swept through her. She felt the urge to flee. This is unfamiliar ground—emotionally and physically. But then she remembered the excruciating pain the pull caused her and the person pulling her. It hit her. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy.
Is this the Malfoy manor? Of course it is. Where else could she be? But the thought of being here, in their home, of them allowing her to stay and stain their sheets with her "dirty" blood? That, to Hermione, was very difficult to come to terms with.
Her train of thought was derailed by the sudden appearance of a house-elf. He was young—well, for a house-elf, he was young. "Missus is awake," he said, and before Hermione could ask any questions, he vanished with a soft pop. Seconds later, the door burst open, and in walked not one, but two Malfoys. However, the more favorable Malfoy of the three was nowhere to be seen. Was he still weak? Standing before her were the matriarch and patriarch of the family. Great.
"I—We do, we ask," Lucius stammered, but his words fell flat. It was rare to see him flustered, let alone stuttering, yet here he was, doing both.
"What my husband meant to say," Narcissa interjected smoothly, "is that your appearance, no matter how unexpected, helped our son."
"Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione began, unsure of where to start. She opened her mouth, but no words came. After a moment of silence, she finally managed, "There is a lot we need to discuss."
"Yes, dear, and we will, but not today," Narcissa hushed gently.
"Be well, Ms. Granger," Lucius said before walking out of the room. Before Hermione could stop herself, she blurted out, "Where is Draco?"
"He is fine," was all the answer she received. If only she knew where he was, she would probably feel as stale as day-old bread.
____________________________________________________
"Granger, I heard you were looking for me?" Draco asked.
"Malfoy, you look like shit... again," she remarked. He wanted to say it’s the full moon again, but instead, he kept quiet.
"Theo," she said after a while. How was she supposed to tell him what had just transpired with Theo?
Hearing his name made Draco’s blood boil. Tosser.
"I had a long day, Granger, and frankly, I’m in no way interested in your faux marriage," he said, his tone sharp.
And yet, even after saying that, he stayed. He stayed until she fell asleep. He stayed when she woke up the next day. It was to Draco’s great observation that there was no ring in Hermione’s hand but then again, Nott was never one to respect tradition. Perhaps he hadn’t given her one at all. How utterly unsophisticated—and disrespectful.
If it had been him in Theo’s place, he would have given her his signet ring without a second thought. Yet, even with the lingering uncertainty of whether Hermione could truly be Hermione Granger, née Nott, he stayed. Stayed until sleep finally claimed him.
How pathetic it was for him to sit there, in the chair beside her bed, his arm bent awkwardly across the mattress, his hand resting just inches from her sleeping form. His head, heavy with exhaustion, had slipped forward, leaning against the bed, just barely touching the cool sheets near her side. He wasn’t even sure if she was taken, if she belonged to someone else. What was even more pathetic, however, was his decision to remain beside her, only to slip away quietly in the early hours of the morning.
He couldn’t bear the idea of making her feel uncomfortable, especially if she happened to be a New Nott. It may have been an old custom, but Draco was a man who respected tradition. A woman accounted for by another man should never share the same space as another man, or else it would bring unnecessary criticism upon her.
____________________________________________________
It was Hermione’s first time dining with them for supper, and hopefully the last. The atmosphere was heavy with quiet, the silence almost oppressive. But Hermione had been asleep for two days, her body deprived of food, and it would be a waste of energy not to eat the feast set before her. Godric! This wasn’t the usual grilled cheese or simple baked bread she was accustomed to for lunch.
No, this was a full-course meal, lavish and rich, each dish more indulgent than the last. The only sounds that filled the room were the soft clinks of spoons and forks, the occasional gulp as Hermione ate hungrily, devouring everything in sight. She was famished, and the food—sumptuous and bountiful—was a welcome relief.
Draco Malfoy sat in silence, brooding even, his thoughts seemingly miles away. But he looked better than the last time Hermione had seen him—at least he wasn’t confined to his bed anymore. While he still had some recovering to do, to Hermione, he appeared just as enticing as the rich dessert she was eagerly devouring. The contrast between the two—his quiet presence and the indulgence of the feast—was striking, yet she couldn’t help but feel a strange pull toward him, as if he too were something she was hungry for, in more ways than one.
The silence stretched on, until it was broken by the low, measured voice of Malfoy Sr., who spoke with such cadence that the words seemed to hang in the air
"We have been hospitable for two days now, Ms. Granger," Lucius began, his tone cold. "And while my wife cares deeply for your health—for unfathomable reasons—I care about having an explanation, one that is long overdue."
Granger, at her wit's end, didn’t know how to explain. And so she spoke vehemently, detailing the bond, Theo, the apparition pulling her into this place, and everything in between. When she finished, there was a heavy silence.
"There is no doubt about it," Lucius tutted, his tone heavy with finality.
"So, we're bonded?" Draco asked, disbelief lacing his voice as he searched their faces for answers.
"Yes, it seems that way," Hermione replied, her voice steady, though a slight tremor in her chest betrayed her effort to maintain composure.
"How?" Draco pressed, his eyes narrowing in confusion. When no one answered, he turned to his father, his voice more urgent. "How did you know?"
"No Malfoy can enter that room, nor can they leave, without being bonded to a Malfoy," Lucius stated, his words final, as if the explanation itself should suffice.
"Why?" Draco asked again, his frustration mounting.
"As for the why..." Lucius trailed off, his voice faltering slightly, "we do not know yet."
"So, we are bonded," Draco said again, this time more as a statement than a question, the weight of it settling over him.
"Unofficially, yes," Narcissa replied softly, her voice breaking the tense silence. It was her first words, quiet but laced with something else—an unspoken understanding.
"Why?" Draco’s question echoed again, a desperate need for clarity in his voice. It seemed that all in the room had more questions than answers.
"I have some theories," Hermione began, her voice uncertain, though she didn’t fully grasp Narcissa's silent meaning. "But they’re not concrete..."
"Of course you do," Draco muttered, sarcasm thick in his tone, his frustration seeping through.
"What about Ron?" Lucius interrupted sharply, his gaze shifting between Draco and Hermione, his eyes cold and calculating.
"Well, I guess he'll have to settle for mutual accord then," Draco said smoothly, his tone dripping with an almost casual ease, as if the situation were nothing more than a minor inconvenience.
"But with who?" Lucius pressed, his gaze sharp, demanding a clearer answer.
Hermione froze, the weight of the question sinking in. She hadn’t truly considered the implications, but now it was unavoidable. Her thoughts turned to Theo or Harry—one of them, perhaps. She had to go back to one of them, clarify things, make sense of the mess she had found herself in.
Lucius’ question lingered in the air, thick with expectation: With who? How would her choice affect their agreement?
The uncertainty was suffocating.
"I have to leave," Hermione suddenly said, standing up abruptly.
"Why?" Draco asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I thought we were bonded?"
"Yes," she answered, her voice uncertain, unsure of how to respond to the deeper question he wasn’t asking outright.
"Won’t it pull you back here?" Draco pressed, his gaze intense, searching for answers she didn’t have.
Hermione hadn’t really thought about that. The idea hadn’t crossed her mind until now, and she felt a flicker of panic.
"Oh my god, we have to test it," she said, her eyes wide with sudden realization, the thought seeming almost reckless.
Draco fell silent, the weight of her words hanging in the air. "No," he replied firmly. "You could splinch yourself... and kill me in the process."
"Please, don’t be dramatic," she said with a roll of her eyes, brushing off his concern.
"I’m not being dramatic," he shot back, his voice strained, an edge of frustration creeping into his tone. "I was fainting every other day for a week, bedridden for another. And that’s not even counting the state you found me in a few days ago."
Hermione’s brows furrowed as she processed his words, confusion clouding her thoughts. "That doesn’t make any sense. I didn’t experience any of those symptoms."
Symptoms? Really? He felt like he was dying, and this was her reaction? Preposterous.
"I mean, since our bond seemed to have activated when Theo and I tried doing the ritual," Hermione said, her voice tinged with uncertainty. "That seemed to anger the bond and pull me here. So I simply assumed it was the ritual that triggered it. But your input makes it safe to assume it’s been there all along, probably lying dormant. The question is... since when?"
Draco was in great disbelief. He couldn’t wrap his head around the idea that, while he had been teetering on the edge of death, this was her takeaway? Really? How could she still be so sharp after everything she’d been through? He wanted to strangle her for approaching the matter so scientifically and fuck her at the same time. Who knew that intelligence could turn him on just as much? And at this point, he did not know what’s worst.
It’s just the scent... just the scent. He kept repeating the words in his mind, trying desperately to steady himself as she spoke quickly, each word making his situation worse. Her voice tumbled out in a rush, and he could hear her breath—mangled, uneven.
Those soft, breathy sounds she made. Circe and all the coven witches, guide him, please! His mind goes directly to the soft moans she could be making. He must stop these thoughts! He must stop her from talking!
There was nothing wrong with Hermione when she rambled. She always did this when she was nervous—something Draco had noticed during their years at Hogwarts. But now? It didn’t irritate him. Quite the opposite, actually. It was becoming harder to control his instincts every time they spent time together, and the longer he was near her, the more out of control he felt.
"Do I make you nervous?" Draco asked, his voice laced with feigned curiosity, though the underlying tension was impossible to ignore. He could only thank years of etiquette his mother plunged him into for not letting his emotions reflect in his voice.
"What? Why?" Hermione responded, flustered.
"You talk too much. You always do that when you're nervous."
She squinted at him, irritation flickering in her eyes. "Of course I’m nervous, Draco Malfoy! Bonds like this are rarely studied. There’s no single explanation for why they form. Some are designed, some are planned, and some are... well, unexplainable. There are very few texts on soul bonding, and we’re not even sure if our souls are bonded or if it’s just the magic at play."
She paused, collecting her thoughts, before continuing, her words growing more focused. "The theory behind magical bonds is complex. Soul bonds, for instance, can be caused by extreme emotional connection or shared experiences—often, ones so profound they link the individuals on a deep, magical level. But there’s also the possibility that this bond is more of a magical contract, one that has no true emotional tie but is the result of raw, unbridled magic."
Her brow furrowed as she pressed on. "Some believe bonds are formed during high-stakes magical events, like life-threatening situations or intense, shared experiences. A sudden surge of magic, or even a near-death encounter, can trigger such a bond. There’s also the darker side of things—cursed or forbidden magic, where a bond might be forced upon two individuals without their consent. This could create a connection that neither party wants, leading to feelings of helplessness, resentment, or even control."
She shook her head, frustration creeping into her tone. "The few books on soul bonding that do exist are mostly theoretical. They hypothesize that some bonds are formed during intense magical rituals, while others claim it’s the result of random, chaotic magic. It’s even possible this bond is an accidental side effect of something else, like the ritual Theo and I attempted, or a reaction to a powerful magical force. But regardless of how it happens, the effects can be unpredictable."
She met Draco's gaze with intensity. "In some cases, bonds like this can grow stronger over time, forcing individuals to share emotions, pain, or even physical sensations. It can make it difficult to differentiate between your own feelings and someone else’s. There’s a risk of emotional dependency, where one person might become too reliant on the other. And in the worst cases, the bond can become suffocating, trapping both parties in an inescapable connection, whether they want it or not."
Her voice grew more serious. "One of the most dangerous aspects of a bond like this is how it could affect our magical cores. The connection between two bonded individuals can interfere with the flow of magic, potentially causing one—or both—of their magical cores to destabilize. If the bond is too strong, it could drain their magic or cause it to behave erratically, making it impossible to control. In extreme cases, it could lead to a magical imbalance, leaving both parties unable to perform magic properly."
Hermione took a breath, trying to calm herself. "The point is, we don’t fully understand what’s happening. We don’t know."
God Salazar, he ought to really shut that mouth preferably with his dick. No, not that thought. He was wrong to even entertain the image. Just when he believed he had become immune to her scent, her voice, her very presence... Well, who was he fooling?
Those pretty lips would surely leave traces of lipstick on his cock. He would revel in that sight, her on her knees, brown eyed wide with lust and anticipation, as she looked at him obediently. Her dainty fingers wrapping around it,feeling her tongue as she tastes him, hearing the sound of her soft gurgle every time he hits the base of her throat, seeing her eyes water as he wraps his fingers to her hair and shove her face towards his body and swallow her deeper and deeper. Her.
Sweet Salazar! He must stop this. It is disrespectful to her. And the realization that the men he worked with probably thought of the same thing made him want to gag. She is right, he is such a prat.
"Draco," Hermione insisted, her voice soft but pleading, as though calling out to him through the haze of his thoughts. If only she could read his mind, she would be surprised at the vulgar image his mind conjured.
"Hmm?" He responded absently, his voice distant, clearly lost in a haze of lustful thoughts, his mind still reeling from the overwhelming presence of her.
"We need to test this. I mean it," Hermione pressed, her tone growing firmer, insistent, a sense of urgency beneath her words.
"Why?" Draco asked, though his curiosity was tempered with the weariness that always followed her relentless persistence. He wasn’t sure if he was more intrigued by her resolve or exhausted by it.
"To understand how it works. If we understand it, it might be easier to accept. Once we’ve done that, we can hopefully figure out a way to reverse it."
Draco paused, the weight of her words sinking in like a stone in his chest. It was a hard pill to swallow. He had resigned himself to their fate—had braced himself to accept whatever was coming, as out of his control as it felt. And yet, there she was, determined to change it, to rewrite the rules of the situation.
A flicker of hope, the tiniest ember, sparked in him at the thought of possibility. But just as quickly, it was smothered, snuffed out like a flame caught in a draft. In the blink of an eye, the heat that had been simmering in him—the heat of desire, of longing for this witch—cooled. It was as though someone had doused him with cold water. The heat of his hormones turned to ice, extinguished in an instant.
Well, no matter. He craved her—only because of his wolf, nothing more. It was the animal instinct, the wild urges, the primal pull that had nothing to do with who she was as a person. The countless times he’d undone himself, lost in the throes of desire, were all a result of his raging hormones and the heightened senses of the wolf. It had nothing to do with her, not really.
She was a complication, a source of frustration, but she wasn’t the one he desired. He could sleep with other witches, find release in others who didn’t cloud his mind and stir his blood like she did. He could. At Least this is what he told himself. So the idea of this bond, this pull between them that makes his insides twist in confusion and the ache for her when it shouldn't. It was the wolf. Just the wolf. Nothing more.
"I have somewhere else to be, Granger," he said, his voice cold and detached, his gaze firmly set ahead as he turned his back on the conversation. He needed to get as far away from her as possible—this bond, this pull, it was suffocating him.
"But what about this?" she persisted, her voice tinged with frustration, the urgency growing in her words.
"Contrary to your belief, I am a busy man. My world does not revolve around you," Draco snapped, the bitterness in his tone cutting through the silence. He had to push her away, keep her at arm's length—he couldn’t let her get too close.
And with that, he walked away—again. Gods, how many times would he flee before he realized he couldn’t outrun this anymore? How many times could he deny the undeniable pull between them?
____________________________________________________
It was the older Malfoy again, with his son, in the same place where they usually spoke, more like where they planned– his father’s personal library.
Lucius Malfoy had always been keenly observant. After seeing Draco’s reaction to Hermione Granger’s response about their bond, Lucius knew exactly what his suspicions had been all along.
Draco had more to lose in his plan than he had realized. He hadn’t accounted for all the variables, and that could very well be the downfall of his scheme. Lucius would have to intervene—after all, their goal wasn’t nearly as dark as the supposed regime of the Dark Lord. No, this was far more selfless. It was for his son.
“Needless to say, whatever it is that you’ve planned, it backfired,” Lucius said, cutting through the silence.
“So much for asking me not to meddle,” he added with a dry smile.
“We need Theo Nott,” Lucius said again, a tone of finality in his voice.
“We do not need Nott,” Draco snapped even though he knew too well that they do.
“Of course, we don’t,” Lucius conceded with a smirk.
Draco was taken aback. He didn’t expect his father to agree.
“We do not need the equipment he acquired, nor the compelling studies he came up with. Yes, we do not need any insight on werewolves at all. We certainly do not need that,” Lucius said sarcastically.
Draco knew he was right.
“I’m no ordinary werewolf he’ll be experimenting on,” Draco said stiffly.
“No, of course not. You weren’t bitten, so you’ve told us. But, Draco, what made you believe that your memories can be trusted?” Lucius reasoned, his gaze sharpening.
“Then why are you helping me?” Draco shot back, his frustration rising.
“As much as it may come as a shock,” Lucius began with a smirk, “you are my son..”
Draco frowned but didn’t say anything.
“Bring Theo Nott to Britain,” Lucius suggested calmly.
“We almost did, through Hermione Granger. Look where that went.” Draco sulked, irritation creeping into his voice.
“Draco, do not assume that I am unaware how relieved you are that Ms. Granger failed to marry.” Lucius rolled his eyes and continued. “Regardless, I am not to interfere, as per your mother’s instructions and yours, so I will not offer to help.”
Draco fell into a quiet, brooding silence. His mind churned. When Draco Malfoy thought, he was dangerous. He wanted marriage—Theo Nott. Well, he’d give him marriage.
After a long pause, Lucius spoke again, his voice low. “Ron.”
“What about him?” Draco asked, his gaze shifting.
“He’ll be safe. Nott doesn’t have it in him to kill. The worst he could do is turn him into a wolf, and that’s stupid. Theo’s not stupid,” Draco snapped, his voice cold and measured.
“You put too much trust in Theo,” Lucius said, his voice carrying a quiet warning.
This caught Draco off guard. Of course, he trusted Theo—or at least to such extent, he trusted him, he had once upon a time. They were brothers, in a sense.
“You do remember he denounced us,” Lucius added, his tone icy.
“You do remember you denounced him and it didn’t have to be that way.” Draco snapped, his anger rising. He wanted to say more but couldn’t quite voice it all.
“Apologies for putting my son first. I didn’t realize that was a great sin,” Lucius mocked, his eyes glinting.
“He was your son too,” Draco muttered.
“He is,” Lucius whispered, almost to himself.
“Anyways… Ron?” Lucius asked again, his voice sharp.
“Father, if I didn’t know better, I’d think you cared for that carrot,” Draco said with a sardonic smile.
“No. But if something happens to him, Granger might escalate things. And then—” Lucius began.
“You’re afraid of Granger?” Draco interrupted incredulously.
“You have no right to ask. Watch her when she is in her element, and then we will talk,” Lucius replied, a touch of respect in his voice.
“All I’m suggesting, Granger, is that it’s quite apparent she has a deep affection for that Weasley. Should something unfortunate befall him, one might find her attentions... redirected entirely towards Theo—and not in any manner that would be beneficial to us.”
Draco stood up abruptly. “I’m leaving. Excuse me, Father.”
“There are... whispers, if you will, of Granger destroying anyone who crosses her. No solid proof, no traces, just whispers in the shadows. And those whispers, they are far more unnerving than any threat—because they exist... and don’t exist at all.”
Draco froze, his hand on the doorframe. He hadn’t realized his father held such an opinion of Hermione. It was both refreshing and terrifying at the same time.
“Atta girl,” he muttered under his breath as he walked out.