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Funnily enough he felt it first when her palm connected with his face back in third year.
It was sharp. Like a thin blade sticking deep into his soul and that hurt him more than the slap itself. Something like a blanket wrapped itself deep inside him and he knew he was doomed. It had a firm grasp on his soul, squeezing it tight and he couldn't breathe. He stumbled back, cradling his cheek.
Then he ran. Afraid of what had happened and what it meant.
He had heard tales of a soul bond, deep and ancient magic that warped into one's very essence and settled into every bit of consciousness like a medley of intangible emotions.
He laid in bed all night, his heart racing. There was no one he could talk to about it, not really. He had to have the worst fucking luck in the world. A soul bond with the bloody swot? A mudblood at that? His parents would kill him. It was her fault. She shouldn't have touched him. Dumb witch.
Merlin's bloody butt crack, now he could feel it twist within him.
He hissed in pain and squeezed his eyes shut, curling into a ball under the heavy duvet. He couldn't call out for help. No one would hear him anyway. Theo, who slept on the bed closest to Draco's, snored through every conceivable disturbance. The world could end, but the Nott heir wouldn't stir from his beauty sleep.
Tears wetted his pillows in fat drops and he was sure he'd soak them through, but the pain slowly faded, even as the weight of the bond remained. Sleep, however, evaded him all through dawn.
He resolved to keep a physical distance from the witch, hoping that the bond would dissolve if she hated him and she did. He knew it, he didn't care. Or at least he didn't care before.
Sharpness barbed his insides everytime he caught her eyes. He didn't let the pain overwhelm him, not in public. It wouldn't do him any favours if anyone was to find out. It was awfully unfair that she felt none of it.
She wasn't in pain. She didn't need to wonder what he was doing. She didn't bother about what he was up to.
He tried to pretend he didn't either. But when he sat behind her for their end of the year exams, he wondered if her curls would bounce if one was to pull on it. Not because it was her hair of course, just because it was quite a mass of curls. That was all.
He spent the entire summer in the lavish library at the Malfoy Manor, reading everything he could on soul bonds. Most of them were akin to the fairy tales they were told as children.
A soul bond was an incredibly rare connection, one that would bind two together in ways in which no one else would make sense. Their joys would be shared as would their sorrows. Truly a love that comes once in a lifetime.
Love.
As if he could love her with her know it all snottiness and her terrible taste in friends. Pain ricocheted through him again and he groaned, the book dropping out of his arms as he sank to the thick carpeted floors.
Theodore Nott welcomed his visit over the weekend, but was disappointed that his friend only seemed interested in the Nott Manor Library. Pureblood families boasted a rich variety of literature and historic works, where if one family lacked in quantity of books on any subject, another had ample, and within the mahogany walls of the Nott Library, did the young man glean some insight to his condition.
She had touched him.
To some extent at least. It had triggered his soul bond. Hers would lay dormant till he touched her. Apparently. He could not ever imagine having an excuse to do that, he thought to himself as he stifled through the pages of the old text. She would probably never know.
It both delighted him and pissed him off.
Why must he be the only one weighed down by this circumstance?
The tomes revealed that soul bonds channel feelings of the other. That didn't quite explain why he seemed to feel physical pain when he thought of her. Or thought wicked of her.
Perhaps the bond was punishing him for being an arse.
Fuck it.
It was useless reading further. There was no complete study on the matter.
Just his bloody luck.
As fourth year approached, he found himself at the World Cup, seated with his parents and the Ministry of Magic in the VIP box, unable to tear his eyes off the curly haired girl seated in front of him between the two absolute scum of wizard kind.
His palms sat on his lap feeling damp and cold, the nerves trickling down his spine like a slow melting block of ice. He knew what his father and his friends had planned.
Attacking muggles. Muggleborns were not off either.
Why did he fucking care?
Maybe he should just touch her. Where? The back of her head? Shoulder? Did it have to be skin on skin? Did it have to be... Fun? Maybe press her against a tree trunk and snog her senseless. He wondered with a giddy sense of joy at what her idiot friends would react to it. Then he shook himself back to sanity.
Merlin, he couldn't believe he was actually considering it. He was losing his mind. Bloody bond wouldn't stop singing.
Maybe if she went through what he did, she'd figure a way to break the bond off. There must be something in her massive, ugly, know it all brain that she could use to tear this -
Pain twisted his guts and his thoughts screeched to a breathless halt.
His feet roved through the forest. He shouldn't be out here alone, but he couldn't help himself. They had started, the attacks had started. But he couldn't think straight. He needed to go.
Go.
Seek.
Find.
No - No, no, no.
He wanted to find them to taunt them. Nothing else.
Yes.
The soul bond within him impatiently tightened. Not painfully, but still rather uncomfortable.
“What?” He hissed to himself, leaves crunching beneath his feet. “I wasn't being nasty.”
In response, the knot loosened and he was relieved.
“Hadn’t you better be hurrying along, now? You wouldn’t like her spotted, would you?” He sneered at the trio when he found them, amused at the sheer rage the swot radiated. Wasn't she the fiesty one?
The Weasel had an awful tongue, cussing him out like that, but he couldn't be bothered in the least.
“What's that supposed to mean?” She was trying to be so tough, it almost made him laugh. He could feel it better now, the undercurrent of her emotions. She was afraid. Good. Fear was a valuable tool.
“Granger, they’re after Muggles. Do you want to be showing off your knickers in mid-air? Because if you do, hang around...they’re moving this way.”
Why did he say that? Now he couldn't stop thinking about her and her knickers. He could have sworn the bond within him laughed at his unfortunate choice of words, but the three Gryffindors were too lost in their hate for him to notice the slight prick of red that dusted his upper ears.
Her friends were loud, brass and uncultured. He found snarking them off as easy as a naturally born reflex. Yet, he couldn't help pass a comment at her once more before they parted ways.
“Keep that big bushy head down, Granger.”
Oh great, just great. Now he'd be thinking of those maddening curls too.
Fuck his life.
And fuck this soul bond in particular.
Emotions washed over through the bond that year and he learnt not to fight it. It didn't bother him as much, even though he had to remind himself that it was not his emotions. It was her’s, so complex and feminine. She would hate knowing he could feel everything she felt. The thought gave him a sick sort of pleasure.
He couldn't help it. He wasn't a good man and he'd never pretend to be one.
Instead, he kept quiet mostly. Even if that bloody head of hair kept bouncing in front of him every time they went from class to class. They looked like a pile of snakes. No, a crown of snakes. Hissing at anyone who tried to come closer. The sort you could wrap around your fingers. Were they soft too?
“Hermione - who are you going to the ball with?”
Obviously, the two of you. Weasel bee was as stupid as he was ugly.
“I'm not telling you, you'll just make fun of me.”
Merlin's frozen ballsack. His mouth moved before he could wrap his mind around it.
“You're joking, Weasley. You're not telling me someone's asked that to the ball. Not the long molared mudblood.”
His gut twisted and his face paled, the bond was going to kill him if his jealousy didn't. She said something akin to greeting Mad Eye Moody. He looked around expecting Moody. He wasn't there. When he turned back, she was oddly snarky.
How adorable. She called him a ferret.
Fuck.
He should just reach out and hold her hand. How would she like to know that she was soul bound to a ferret? Little Miss fucking sunshine would cry if she knew. He stumbled away as pain crushed him once more, palm flattened against his chest, struggling to breathe.
The soul bond was a complete bitch sometimes. Perhaps, it was right. He went too far with the teeth thing. But she didn't seem to mind as much anymore. He was almost proud of her for dishing it back out.
She was dressed up different at the Yule Ball. She looked… Better. No, she looked wonderful. A vision really. Pity she had done something ridiculous to her hair. It looked better before. Maybe he should pull the pin out of her hair. Play it off as a tease.
Perhaps he should touch her tonight. See how she reacts. It could be fun.
The bond hummed within him and he smiled, leaning against the wall, watching the scene over a glass of golden blooming wine. Krum danced well with her, a bit too heavy footed for Draco's taste but it didn't matter.
She looked happy. She was happy.
Till she wasn't.
He had to ball his hands into fists, deep and white knuckled, in his pockets to stop himself from striding across and punching Ron Weasley in the face.
They'd abandoned her. There she sat, sobbing in all her perfection. The bond sang to him, urging him to her, but his feet stayed rooted to the ground.
He didn't sleep that night either.
Things got worse after that year. He could feel her emotions more clearly now. She grew jealous and hurt a lot more. She hated him with unbridled ferocity too, but that was expected. He was a part of the Inquisitorial Squad now after all. They were destined to stand on either side every time.
Funny, wasn't it?
He didn't think so. He gave in to wickedness. It was easier to let go than to fight it anyway.
The bond no longer hummed.
He would have assumed it had dissolved if he didn't feel its weight. Maybe he was doing it right. Maybe it wasn't long before he rid himself of it entirely.
With time, darkness multipled in leap and bounds, consuming all of everything he had ever known and at mere sixteen years of age, he was drowning.
She could never know now, even as the weight of their bond sat heavy in his soul; dormant but heavy, for there was another weight he carried now, branded in the flesh. He would only hurt her if she was to discover it now and he found, to his greatest surprise, he didn't want that.
He would hurt enough people as it was. She deserved better.
But the unexpected happened.
She started worrying about him. He could feel her gaze follow him now, everywhere he went, like he had once followed her. He recoiled at the mere thought of touching her, not because she was impure, but he was. Their eyes met more than a mere few times, but he always looked away.
She deserved better than the monster he was.
It was cruel to them both.
For her to feel something for him that was beyond her choice. She would never consciously choose him, he was sure.
His was a world of black fires raging. He could not let her burn with him. It was the only kindness he could offer her, even if it was but a mere morsel.
At potions, his hand almost brushed hers and he flinched away in horror. He felt the pain ricochet through the bond even before he saw the rejection in her eyes.
He knew what she thought, that she was still impure, could almost sense her thoughts through the haze of her the bond. It was better that she did. He took extra precautions after that, a pair of black gloves almost always covered his long fingered hands. He couldn't risk touching her even by accident.
The bond wept.
Draco never thought that Hermione would be in his arms one day. He never thought he would discover how perfectly she fit into his embrace. Her hair was soft to the touch and bouncy as he had always imagined. She smelled of vanilla and sandalwood, the scent strong in the crook of her neck. Had she always smelled like his favourite things?
He cradled her to his chest, wishing he hadn't been a coward all those years ago. Wishing he had been braver.
Hermione Granger was made for him, Draco knew now.
But there, on the floors of Malfoy Manor, did Draco weep in silence. His lips placed gentle kisses on her forehead as he rocked her cold body against his chest, wishing, hoping, begging that he could warm her up again.
Her screams would torment him forever more as his aunt had her tortured and he had to watch. Coward, he was. She was far braver than he'd been in his entire life.
No one had suspected a thing. Not a soul. He would have collapsed onto the ground if he hadn't been seated. She was buying time for her friends to escape and he couldn't move.
She looked at him before the killing curse hit its mark. He heard her voice loud and clear in his head.
“I know. I feel it too. And I would choose you. You've never been alone.”
She smiled as his jaw went slack.
It happened too fast.
Before he could think, before he could answer her, before he could have told her that he would have chosen her too, his soul was empty.
The bond broken.
And Hermione was gone.
She would never know.
And now Draco Malfoy sat crying, alone in the drawing room, hugging her tight.
Lamenting the love he had failed to protect, failed to cherish and failed to own.