Chapter Text
Soul-bound.
Hermione sat in stunned silence at his words. So casually spoken, yet harshly delivered. They had both come to the revelation at the same time. She had felt the moment it had clicked. The reality of it. Of what this was between them.
It was no longer just her need to help him.
It was no longer Draco needing her.
No, it was deeper, etched into their very bodies and their souls.
Soul.
Bound.
A deep form of magic, ancient.
It was incredibly rare and not easily formed.
From her knowledge of it, the bond was created when two beings formed a deep connection to each other. It created a codependency of magic, the two forces feeding off the other. But, from what she had studied, it was not a parasitic relationship. The bonded pair needed the other, yes, but it strengthened the other. Enhanced their strengths to encourage growth and reduce their weaknesses. Overall, the pair would be stronger together, than when apart.
Her heart was racing in her chest as she stared at the wizard before her.
Her newfound soul-mate.
The words sounded foreign in her mind.
How could he be a soulmate?
Out of everyone in the world, it was Draco Malfoy.
The boy who hated her. Who called her slurs. Who watched her being tortured. Who—
She shook her head to stall her thoughts.
None of it mattered.
“Do you think this is permanent?”
He was watching her, studying her just as she was him. His lips twisted in his trademark sneer, “Granger, being soul-bound is perm—“
“Not that. I meant this,” She gestured towards his form, “Being transformed into a human. Do you think you will stay this way?”
Draco was silent as his gaze skittered away from hers, moving to his hand that rested on his knee. The sunlight bathed his pale skin, giving him the appearance of a marble statue. His hair, carelessly swept back from his face. Old, faded scars appeared white against his skin. The new ones from the battle, a brilliant red and jagged gash, crisscrossing his skin in a hatch pattern.
“No. I don’t know why this happened and I doubt I am fortunate enough for it to be long-term. I am not stupid enough to think the curse was broken because you hopped on my back and rode me like a bloody pack mule.” He said condescendingly as he looked at her steadily, his face emotionless save for the slight sneer on his lips.
Hermione’s mind was racing; she didn’t presume to think the curse would be so easily broken. Well, not that soul-binding was easy. Not even probable. It was nearly impossible and highly improbable. She couldn’t stop staring at Draco. In shock. Disbelief.
Gods, could he hear her heart pounding in her chest? The way her blood thundered in her ears?
Could he feel it?
How deep was the connection between them? Bloody hell, she knew he could read her thoughts if he so wished. Did him being an Legilimens create a strong bond between them? So many questions, so few answers—
His face swam into focus.
“Granger, take a breath.” Draco said, a frown turning his lips downward as he leaned forward.
Fuck, he could sense her anxiety, couldn’t he?
His hand came out to her, settling on her knee. His palm was hot through her jeans.
“What— how can you..?”
He shook his head, “You wear your thoughts on your sleeve, Granger. And your hair is—“ he waved his free hand beside his head, “It’s doing a thing.”
Her hand quickly rose to the side of her head, feeling the curls beneath her fingertips. They were less tamed than usual, and she felt a jolt of static at the touch. Her hair, Hermione was aware, tended to react to her emotions. This wasn’t the first time it had become noticeable by others, either. If there was ever a telltale to someone’s emotions, it was her bloody curls.
“Shit,” Hermione mumbled as she dropped her hand away. His hand still lingered on her knee, fingers caressing up her thigh.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to sound like an arsehole—“
“You are one.” She muttered.
He rolled his eyes and continued despite her interruption, “— But I’m sure you know just as much as I do about how something like this—“ He motioned between them, “Works. I’ve been…out of touch for a few years. I…I struggle to remember things I’ve read, Granger.”
His hand still remained, touching her.
“I’m sure there has to be information we can find in one of the libraries about your curse. Or something similar. This can not be a one-off chance in history that you would be the only one to be afflicted with a curse like this—forced to live as a creature. I mean, Muggle lore is filled with it. Fairy tales. There is Beauty and the Beast and it’s one of the most popular stories out there.”
Draco was silent as he looked at her, his expression unreadable.
He ran his tongue along the front of his teeth as his brow quirked in obvious annoyance and amusement, “Pray tell, Granger, how is this beast's curse broken?”
Her face was growing warm under his unwavering attention, and even hotter from his question. She was reluctant to say anything, because she knew he would scoff at it. She did, as well.
“Well…” Hermione started hesitantly. His brow rose another notch, clearly waiting for her to continue.. “In popular depictions, the prince is cursed to live as a beast by a witch. It is only broken when someone falls in love with him. As he is.”
“So you are telling me that in this fairytale, the curse is somehow broken by… love?” He asked slowly, his words weighted by disbelief and skepticism. His hand had slid to her knee, as if he had been about to pull away entirely and decided against it. “Love?”
She lifted a shoulder in a slight shrug, her face burning hot, “I mean, yes. That’s what I’m saying the popular depictions are of breaking a curse. The prat of a character falls in love with the heroine.”
He motioned with his hand, “And somehow in this story… it appears that I am the prat and you see yourself as the heroine?”
Hermione looked at him with a glare, her cheeks heated at the tone in his voice. She couldn’t quite tell if he was jesting or not.
“I called you a prat, Malfoy. In no way do I see myself as the…” She trailed off, unable to utter the word. It felt foreign on her tongue. Heavy. “But regardless, somehow our magic has bound us together. Somehow, even though I don’t believe in it, fate has brought me here. To this exact place in the world, at this exact moment. To—“
“To me.”
“To you.” Hermione quietly confirmed.
“To break my curse?”
Her shoulders lifted in a shrug. “I don’t know why else I would be here.”
He was looking at her steadily; it was unnerving, “Maybe to help you move on from that dickhead, Weasel.”
“With his brother Charlie?” She deadpanned.
Silver eyes held her gaze, his expression unreadable and guarded, “Is that who you want in your life? You two seem very compatible.”
She wanted to laugh at his observation.
At his words.
She was silent as her gaze slipped away from him, uncertain. Hermione was no fool. Her moment with Charlie had been wonderful and momentarily mind clearing, true. But it had been just that— a moment in time. A distraction. It had been intense, but not in the earth shattering kind of way. Her world didn't rock on its axis from Charlie.
No, only one person had invaded every part of her mind, body and soul.
Only one.
Him.
Draco.
And she hated it.
The way he affected her, even now. How his curse had drawn her here. How they had been bonded, so subtly and unnoticed and yet so suddenly. It had been like an invasion of their very beings, slow tendrils gaining a deeper access into their every fiber until the bond had solidified.
But there was no denying the heat that boiled between them. The way their magic hummed in harmony. The delicious contentment he offered, even now. The annoyance that was simply his existence and the thrill of what he was. Of them. The erotic pleasure that had fused their bodies and minds into one.
It had been the most intense experience of her life, being with Draco.
Unequivocally.
Unquestionably.
Undeniably.
“Then go to your Charlie, Granger.” Draco spoke, his voice tugging her out of the pool of her thoughts. There was an edge to his words. He had taken her silence as confirmation.
Hermione opened her mouth to argue, to stop that train of thought, when a voice drifting on the wind caught their attention. Looking upwards to the sky, she heard the faint whooshing sound of a broom.
“Hermione!?” The familiar voice called, and she rose to her feet just as the owner of the voice broke over the devastated tree line.
Charlie flew into view, dark red hair wild about his face as he stooped low over the handle of the broom. Eyes cast downward as he followed the path of destruction from the fallen dragons. Hermione shaded her eyes with one hand as she flagged him down with the other.
“Speak of the devil,” Draco muttered from behind her. “Bloody Prince Charming, to the rescue.”
Hermione cast him a look over her shoulder.
Charlie landed gracefully on the ground, one broad hand gripping the handle of the broom as he straightened. He crossed the upturned earth to join her. His hand came up to her cheek, rough fingers grazing her cheek to brush a wayward curl from her face. His blue eyes focused briefly on her face as a frown tugged at the corner of his lips. Eyes swept her face, relief crossing his rugged features before they shifted to notice the nude man on the ground behind her. Relief quickly became confusion. Paired with the fact that the Horntail lay deceased beside them, it must look beyond bizarre.
He motioned with his hand towards Draco, pointing to the obvious elephant in the metaphorical room, “Who the fuck is that?”
She shifted behind her gaze towards where the man in question remained on the ground, only half hearted shielding his naked form from their company. One pale brow quirked with something between annoyance and amusement.
“That is—“ Hermione started, but Draco rose to his feet with the grace of a feline. He seemed to have no shame for his nudity as he walked forward, despite the fact that her own cheeks burned.
“Malfoy. Draco Malfoy,” he said coolly as he neared them. He did not offer his hand to the other wizard, silver eyes briefly touching her face before they snapped to Charlie. His expression remained cold, unmoving.
Gods, why was her heart suddenly racing once more?
Charlie’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly as he regarded Draco before him, a smile on his face that did not reach his eyes; “You say your name as if it’s supposed to mean something to me.”
Oh, fuck.
Annoyance flashed across Draco’s face.
“You’re that Weasley that Granger has told me about. What’s the name; Chandler? Chaz? Chad? I’m sorry, I don’t seem to remember but it was something ridiculous.” Draco was drumming a finger on his chin in a show of thought, which his expression indicated anything but.
“Because Draco isn’t an absolutely—“
Hermione hastily stepped forward between the two wizards, her cheeks ablaze; “Alright, enough of that.”
“—ridiculous name?” Charlie managed to finish over her.
Draco couldn’t explain the feeling of jealousy that bloomed to light inside his chest at the sight of the Weasley. He had never really felt jealous over any members of that family. But alas, Ronald Weasley had been his only true competition at Hogwarts. If one could consider that weasel of a man ‘competition.’
No, Charlie Weasley was everything his younger brother was not.
Tall, broad, weathered. A ruggedly built man, with the appearance of someone who lived outdoors. A man that Draco had seen for several weeks not, but had not noticed.
Not like he was now.
And it was not as if Draco should feel any pangs of jealousy. This Weasley worked with bloody dragons and, from what Hermione had confided in him, was incredibly intelligent and kind. Top of his class when he had attended Hogwarts and now helped run a dragon sanctuary.
Not to mention, he had somehow won over Hermione. A witch, he had learned, who had never been with another before her soon-to-be ex-husband.
But then, to top it off, the older Weasley didn’t even know who the fuck Draco was.
How was that even possible?
The Malfoy’s were one of the most powerful and well-known families in the wizarding world. How the fuck didn’t he know who he was? The audacity of the wizard irked Draco like no other.
And to think that this was the man Draco had told Hermione just moments ago to run off to if it pleased her. But now that Draco stood before him, he realized how much he loathed that idea. How much he did not want her to leave. He did not want her to run into another’s arms. He absolutely did not want to let her go.
The realization shook him to his core.
“My name is Draco and I’m a fucking dragon, Weasley. The dragon.”
Her dragon.
The unspoken words he wanted to say hung heavily in the air between the three of them. He could feel the steady thrum of his heart in his chest, pounding far heavier than normal. It almost felt as if there were an echo, as if two hearts beat in the hollow of his chest.
His gaze skittered towards Hermione, taking in the flush of her cheeks. The rise and fall of her chest. Her hand, held out to the side and towards him as if to stop him. As if she could stop him. Her eyes shifted between them, anxious and studying their body language. She was unsure of how to proceed, unsure of what she wanted. Draco could feel the rolling emotions inside her.
Her hair, wild curls that caught the sunlight and looked ablaze with streaks of auburn, framing her sun kissed face.
Draco admired her subtle beauty.
Her dragon. He rather liked the way it sounded in his mind. He rather liked the way it sounded when she had called him Dragon.
He rather liked many things about Hermione.
And he realized he was not keen on sharing her.