Chapter Text
June 18th, 1996
Dolores Umbridge’s office, second floor corridor, Hogwarts
This was ridiculous and boring.
Draco kicked his feet up onto the desk with a loud sigh. He hadn’t been sure how the capture of Potter and his goons was going to go but he hadn’t expected this—waiting in Umbridge’s office while Granger and Potter led her to some hidden weapon. After everything Draco had done for that rotten woman, she refused to let him join her!
Wait till his father heard about this.
Draco sniffed as he glanced around the room. It was pink, girlish, and obnoxious in a way that made even Pansy cringe. There was something… fake and off-putting about it. He eyed the ornamental plates that hung on the walls; one of the technicolor kittens that adorned them meowed at him. It made him feel rather uneasy. He looked away, lip curling, before his attention fell on the grumpy students huddled on the floor.
He smirked.
Though Umbridge seemed on the verge of a breakdown—honestly, did she really think she’d get away with using an Unforgiveable on Potter?—Draco had to admit that the power she had bestowed upon him and his friends was a welcome change. Dumbledore, the fool, was no longer at Hogwarts; instead he was hiding from the Ministry. McGonagall was at St. Mungo’s, recovering from multiple Stunners to the chest. There was no one at the castle who seemed willing to stand up to Umbridge in their absence. Meaning, since he was an Inquisitorial Squad member, there were few willing to stand up to him. It now left him in control of the Weasley siblings, Lovegood, and Longbottom.
His smirk stretched further across his face.
As though feeling his gaze, the youngest Weasley looked over at him. She was a tiny thing but he could see the rage flowing through her. She must hate that she was captured and helpless. Draco had a feeling that, given the chance, she would attack him. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat at the thought. It wasn’t that he was afraid of her. Of course not. Weasleys simply seemed to have something ruthless and uncontrollable in their systems. He couldn’t count the number of times her brothers had attacked him over the years. Draco didn’t doubt that the girl would do something similar given the chance.
And the accusation in her gaze—as if he forced her to do Potter’s bidding! As if it were Draco’s fault that she managed got caught while Potter tried to get a hold of Dumbledore through the Floo. Draco had always known Potter was an idiot, and Weasley too, but he had been surprised that the rest of the Gryffindor gang had followed Potter into this mess.
Draco looked away from the girl, instead focusing on the desk in front of him. It was covered in bright pink lace. On the corner was a vase holding dried flowers. Daisies, he thought, before eyeing the rolls of parchment on the desk. He desperately wanted to go through all the drawers and folders, knowing that Umbridge, Potter, and Granger wouldn’t be back for a long while, but he didn’t dare. Who knew what hexes Umbridge had in place to protect her privacy.
Again, he sighed. He should’ve questioned Umbridge more before she had stormed out of the office. Was he supposed to sit here with these Gryffindors all day? Goyle looked ready to nod off in favor of watching over the other students. Crabbe was tapping the stolen wands against the wall, watching the sparks that exploded from the tips with amusement. Bulstrode was curling a piece of hair around her pointer finger, scowling. Davis was looking at her shins with a frown; the Weasley girl had been kicking at them the whole time Umbridge had interrogated Potter. Draco could already see the bruises forming.
His eyes drifted to his exposed wrist. At some point during his capture of the Gryffindors, someone had yanked at his sleeve and ripped the buttons off. His stomach clenched when he saw the raised, darkened skin that was normally hidden: his mark. Or soul mark, as some people called it. Two interlocked circles that had decorated the inside of his wrist since he was born. Somewhere there was a person with the exact same marking in the exact same place. His soulmate.
Draco turned his wrist one way then the other. He had taken to ignoring the marking and realized now that he hadn’t really looked at it in a while. When he was younger, the idea of a soulmate had excited him. There was someone out there that was meant for him; Draco had always liked having his own things. But as he got older, and as his parents steadily reminded him that Malfoys didn’t look for their soulmates, that arranged marriages were easier and better, he had decided to forget all about it.
It was all rather stupid, wasn’t it? Some mark on your body was supposed to tell you who you were meant to end up with? There were billions of people in the world but the only way you’d be truly happy was to find the one person out of all of them that shared the same mark as you? Even if Draco did find his soulmate, his parents would likely force him into a marriage with a family that benefited them.
There was a reason he didn’t pay attention to his mark anymore. Draco forced himself to look away from his wrist and around the office again. Right away he noticed that the Gryffindors were sharing looks, communicating silently. His eyes narrowed and he lowered his feet to the ground before standing up. Moving caught the attention of the Gryffindors.
“Don’t do anything foolish,” Draco warned, the corner of his lip curling upwards as he went to stand in front of the desk. “I don’t think Umbridge would mind much if we tested out some Unforgivables on you. What had she said? Oh, yes— what Cornelius doesn’t know won’t hurt him.”
He thought he did a good job of mimicking Umbridge’s girlish, high-pitched voice; Goyle and Crabbe both laughed. Longbottom glared. Lovegood blinked distractedly. Ron Weasley turned red in the face. And the other Weasley lifted an eyebrow, as though she didn’t believe him. Draco’s hand twitched at his side; he wouldn’t test out any curses on them, of course, but he didn’t want them to know that.
He wished Umbridge would’ve let him go with her to look at this weapon Dumbledore had the Gryffindors working on. What could it be? She had been worried for months that Dumbledore was going to attack the Ministry. Draco thought the idea of it was rather stupid but Dumbledore was always at odds with the Ministry, wasn’t he? And Dumbledore had created that stupid army of his among the students he favored. Draco tapped his wand against his leg, eyes narrowed in thought.
Where would they even hide the weapon? Not the dungeons, surely, or one of the Slytherins would have found it. Maybe Gryffindor tower? And what did it do exactly? Did it—
A soft noise distracted Draco from his thoughts. He glanced around the office, trying to figure out what the odd sound was. None of his housemates seemed to hear it. Draco looked at the Gryffindors. Lovegood was humming softly to herself. Longbottom was sitting perfectly still, staring down at the ground. Weasley was glaring up at Crabbe and Goyle.
But the sound… Something was off.
Draco blinked, looking around the room once more. Then it clicked.
“Where did she go?” Draco shouted, startling the Slytherins. “Where is she?”
“Who?” Bulstrode asked, eyes wide.
“The Weasley girl—”
Longbottom jumped up off the ground, slamming Crabbe into the wall. Weasley stood up and began rushing towards Malfoy, his eyes dark and face red. Draco reacted on instinct; he wasn’t sure what spell came to mind but it sent Weasley flying back. He almost laughed—Weasley was such an idiot—but something hard hit him in the back, shattering on contact. Stumbling forward, Draco barely stopped himself from crying out in pain. What the fuck! He looked over his shoulder.
The youngest Weasley stood on top of the desk, a plate clutched in her hand. He stared in awe. She looked absolutely fierce, her school uniform askew, her hair wild around her flushed face. Her knees were red and irritated; the sound he had heard was her crawling behind the desk, he realized absently. A sharp grin colored her face. Draco thought he heard the kitten on the plate meow before Weasley chucked it at him. This time, he was able to hit it with a spell that shattered it before it could reach him.
“You wench!” Draco shouted. “You think you can—”
Before he could finish his sentence, the girl launched herself off the desk at him. Draco didn’t get the chance to defend himself; someone knocked into him from behind, throwing him off balance. At least it stopped Weasley from landing on top of him though. Scowling, Draco turned around, ready to put a Leg-Locker Curse on the banshee— but he froze. The office was in absolute chaos. Longbottom and Crabbe were physically fighting over the stolen wands. Bulstrode was Stunned on the floor. Davis had Lovegood by the back of her cloak and was trying to pull her backwards. Goyle and Weasley were shouting spells at each other; behind them, plates were broken and the wallpaper was singed.
“Give it here, Malfoy!”
Draco turned at the voice. It was the Weasley girl. He jerked away from her but not fast enough. In one quick movement, she reached out and grabbed his wand. Without thinking, Draco took hold of her wrist with his free hand, intent on making her release his wand by whatever means necessary but—
But the world seemed to freeze when he touched her. Or, perhaps, it had sped up. He wasn’t sure, too overwhelmed by the rush of adrenaline that hit him. Tingles raced through him, starting at their point of contact. It heated his palm, spread up his arm, then settled in his chest. He inhaled sharply and managed one quick thought—what curse had she used on him—before the tingles were replaced with warmth and comfort and rightness. It was hard to explain but, in that moment, Draco felt whole.
Weasley hadn’t managed to curse him. No, no, she didn’t even have a wand. She was—there was no way but—could it be possible— was Weasley his soulmate? The mark on his wrist was prickling but not unpleasantly. And Draco hadn’t let go of her yet. She was staring back at him with the same shock and horror that was likely painted on his face. Her eyes were brown. Freckles decorated her skin, everywhere, everywhere, everywhere.
It was said the first time you touched your soulmate the world would right itself. Was that what was happening now? His grip on her loosened without his permission. She was his soulmate. That was the only explanation, wasn’t it? Though Draco wanted to question it more… there was really no point. His blood hummed at her touch, his heart raced, his mouth went dry. Something stirred inside of him as though waking for the first time.
She exhaled and he inhaled, sharing the same breath.
His fingers were only lightly wrapped around her wrist now. He needed to push her away, he needed to get away from here, he needed to go to the library, to research it more, because there was no way this was what he thought it was.
Draco saw her pupils dilate, watched as her breath hitched, wondered briefly if he was going mad. Then she ripped his wand out of his grasp and pointed it directly at his face. He blinked, his body going cold. With little hesitation, she shouted a spell at him. The force of it knocked him off his feet.
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“Well. This is embarrassing, isn’t it?”
Draco looked up warily, still holding a handkerchief to his nose. Pansy pursed her lips when they made eye contact, clearly trying not to giggle, before she took a seat beside him on the floor. Her knee bumped his.
“I saw Potter’s gang running through the Entrance Hall, laughing about destroying Umbridge’s office and defeating the fools inside. I figured I’d come check on you.”
“How very kind of you.”
“Which one of Potter’s sidekicks cursed you?” she asked.
He didn’t want to tell her the truth but he had no energy to lie.
“The Weasley girl.”
“The Weasley girl? She hit you with a Bat-Bogey Hex?”
“Indeed.”
The giggle she had been trying to swallow escaped. When Draco didn’t react, Pansy let out a loud sigh.
“Come now, Draco. I told you it was a silly idea to follow Umbridge’s orders still. The woman is unhinged.”
“I know that,” he grumbled.
“And now look at you: attacked by your own bogeys, sitting on the floor of this horrible office where anyone could’ve walked in on you. Were you going to hide away here the rest of the night?”
Draco scowled.
“I am simply resting.”
“Resting? I see. Were you planning on keeping them there like that?” Pansy motioned to Goyle, Crabbe, Davis, and Bulstrode, who were all Stunned and splayed across the office.
“Wench took my wand after she hexed me.”
It made his cheeks burn with shame to admit it. A Weasley had stolen his own wand from him.
Pansy smirked at him before pulling out his wand from where it had been tucked in her waistband. Draco almost groaned in relief at the sight of it. Gratefully, he took it from her. Feeling a tad better, Draco leaned his head back against the wall. He could feel Pansy’s gaze on him but he refused to meet her eyes.
“Where’d you find it?”
“In the corridor. She must’ve tossed it while they were getting away.”
“What’s her name?”
“Hmm?”
“The Weasley girl.” He tried to keep his voice even. “What’s her name?”
Pansy sniffed.
“Ginevra, I believe. I hear the girls in fourth year complaining of her often. She prefers to be called Ginny.” Distain coated the nickname when Pansy spat it out but a thrill of… a thrill of something crept up Draco’s back. “I’m surprised you don’t know more of her. She’s the reason Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup this year.”
“Never paid her much mind,” Draco admitted.
Because he hadn’t. There was no reason to think of the youngest Weasley who had followed Potter around like a shadow for years. Honestly, Draco didn’t even like the fact that he was thinking of her now. If he hadn’t grabbed her, he never would’ve thought of her as anything more than a nuisance. Draco hesitated at his own thoughts, recalling how he froze when he saw her on top of Umbridge’s desk. Reckless, feral, uncontrollable—something like a wildfire. She had the same energy as the heat that had raced through him when they touched.
Draco sighed loudly; he knew he should get up and help his friends. He should probably go get Snape and let him know Umbridge took Potter and Granger somewhere to find some mysterious weapon. But he didn’t want to. All he wanted to do was go down to the Slytherin common room, sneak by the other students, and curl up in his bed. This was not how he thought his day was going to go.
He brushed his thumb along the mark on his wrist. It tingled at his touch. The mark had never done that before. Draco released a slow breath.
Shit. This was only going to make things difficult.
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