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“He’s going to kill me.” Her voice shook and she sank against the wall, sliding down until she sat on the floor, head in her hands.
The past two hours had been a blur; she could scarcely recall the trek from the castle back out to the shack. Clearly though, she had managed it. The pull to come here had been all consuming, and a sort of fog had consumed her while she worked. The realization of what she’d done was now hitting her like so many bricks.
A quick survey of the room confirmed that there was nothing else for her to do but leave. Transfigured bandages and bloody gauze were strewn around, circling the man who lay on the floor. The only real sound was that of his shallow breathing.
The sound was soothing. She’d think about that later.
She pulled herself up, stepped outside, and sent up a magical flare to summon the field medics to this location.
Her departure was marked only by a barely audible pop.
____
~Three Years Later~
The bond fizzed between them, crackling like electricity.
She’d suspected for nearly two years now, but was never in close enough proximity to him to know for certain. Working for the same company didn’t mean they spent time together; in fact, she’d made every effort to avoid him. Aside from staff meetings and the occasional Order function, they had no reason to interact. In truth, she hadn’t been willing to face him.
Hermione wasn’t afraid, no. She simply didn’t think he needed another debt looming over his head. Either he didn’t know she’d been there that night on the floor of the Shrieking Shack—and she wasn’t about to tell him—or he did, and was as prepared as she was to leave it unaddressed.
But now, there was no avoiding his gaze.
Curse these Order reunion gatherings and Minerva’s ability to guilt them all into attending. Curse the twins for their hijinks. And curse Ron for clumsily letting these stalking mistletoe loose on the party. She couldn’t even break eye contact to give the green bundle above them a good glare. They were locked into their positions, his hand hovering just beside her waist to attempt to pass, and her head tilted towards him.
It was as though a magnetic field had formed between them, preventing them from moving away and compelling them with every breath to move closer.
“Well, then.” His voice was quiet and surprisingly calm.
“Yes. Well,” she felt a glimmer of embarrassment, a moment of hyperawareness that she had suspected for some time and yet had said nothing. Now, it was undeniable.
Only a soulmate bond reacted to mistletoe in this way.
“You don’t seem surprised,” he murmured. That bloody brow of his rose as if to challenge her possible foreknowledge.
“I’ve…had my suspicions.” Her response was weak and felt insufficient. The two shelves full of related books and notes at her flat gave depth to her suspicions that she wasn’t yet ready to share.
“That night?” His hand no longer hovered at her side, but had settled onto her waist, pulling her closer even as he seemed unaware.
If her eyes hadn’t been locked to his already, the question would have drawn them.
“How long have you—”
“Some of the bandages, once returned to their original forms, turned out to be some notes in a handwriting I grew to know quite well over six years at Hogwarts.” He forestalled her next question. “I was furious, of course, but in no shape to act on it. Once I recovered, well…”
The pause made his piercing look feel somehow more intimate. Her attention was partly consumed by the feel of his hand on her waist, his thumb absentmindedly stroking up and down.
“Yes?”
“I didn’t mind.” A quirk of his lips made it clear that he meant so much more than that, though he likely would never say it.
“How long have you known?” A frown pursed her own lips, though the amusement in his voice as he answered eased the sting of the realization.
“Malfoy Manor. I suspect it hurtled you into your magical maturity, activating the awareness of the bond as well as… alerting me to your distress.”
“You sent Dobby.”
“I did.”
A cheer from the other room reminded them that, for all they felt surrounded by a bubble of intimate tension, they were not actually alone.
“May I?” His question lingered in the air, and she felt her skin alight as he urged her a bit closer, their magics reaching for each other.
All the things that would come from this could wait. The party, the boys, their work…she was certain they’d have to discuss this with HR if nothing else. She’d also most assuredly confront the man before her for not saying a word to her for years. She had a lifetime to do that, though.
“Please.”
The worry, the tension, her concern for the consequences… it all faded the moment his lips touched hers.