Draco felt as if he were going to freeze to death as he floo'd home. He'd re-doubled the dosage of his potions before departing that morning, but their efficacy had vanished the moment Granger touched him. He'd always been meticulously careful to keep her out of arm's reach.
After months of slow agony the sensation of her hands on him had suddenly set everything right. She was warmth and light, and her touch brought colour back into the world. Snapping at her to scare her off had felt so much like dying he might as well have ripped his heart out of his chest and handed it to her. Every fiber of him screamed to pull her close, bury his face in her absurd hair, and let everything stop hurting, just for a moment.
It seemed terribly dim in the Manor as he stepped out of the fireplace, but when a Lumos Maximus failed to make the room seem any brighter, he realized with a sinking feeling that he could barely see at all.
"Miffy," he called, and the house elf popped into the room. At least, he assumed the elf had popped, she suddenly appeared but the accompanying sound had not. "Fetch my potion, doubled again from my current dose."
His stomach was roiling at the thought of consuming another drop of the vile stuff. He had been downing almost a pint every six hours. Miffy reappeared, wringing her hands,
"Miffy is sorry, there is not being enough potion to double the dose. Miffy is only bringing enough for one and a half doses."
"Fine," he said, snatching the large beaker from her hands. "Go to Jenkins and let him know I'll need another batch within the next six hours, and tell him that I'm needing to increase the dosage again."
Miffy popped away again and Draco let himself sag against the mantlepiece for a moment before forcing the beaker to his lips.
It felt like drinking maggots. The potion crawled and bubbled as it slunk across his tongue and down his throat. The closest thing he could approximate it to was that it smelled like a mixture of blood, dirt, and a public urinal, and tasted like someone had puréed lemon peels and sardines together. He forced himself not to retch the contents onto the aubusson rug; he knew from experience it was even worse coming back up.
Once it was settled in his stomach he closed his eyes and felt the potion begin to take effect. He stopped shivering and the room was more warmly lit when he opened his eyes again.
"Draco?" He turned and found his mother staring at him. Her expression was tense and pained; looking down he realized she was staring at the large beaker in his hand. He immediately slipped it behind his back.
"You're home early. Are you alright?" Her voice was trembling. It always seemed to tremble when she spoke to him. Ever since he had stumbled blindly into the parlor calling for Miffy to bring his potion. After taking it he found that he had been standing in front of his parents, staring at him in silent horror and dawning understanding.
His mother had cried in her room for days.
He ignored her question.
"I had an interesting run in with Granger today, Mother," he said, furious with her betrayal. "In Emeliory Bogfeld's office."
"Oh," said Narcissa in a light casual tone, raising a pale eyebrow. "Well, they both work in same department, I suppose it's not unusual for them to run into each other. What were you doing in the Department of Magical Creatures? I thought you were going to take it easy today, seeing as it's the first time in days that the potions have worked."
She sent him a pointed look.
"Well, since everything is now out in the open—you know perfectly well why I was there."
His mother's expression remained innocent as if she had no idea what he was talking about.
"You know it's Granger. I don't know how you know, but I know you do, and now, thanks to you, she knows. And I was there to see her, because..." his voice trailed off.
He didn't want to tell his mother about how irresistibly he was drawn, or how it felt as though he were having an unending panic attack when he hadn't seen Granger for too many days.
"She knows now? What did she say? Will she help you?" Narcissa came toward him hopefully.
"No," Draco said, his voice ice cold as he glared at her. "She won't. I made sure of that. If you try to meddle again, Mother, I swear I will go somewhere unplottable to die and you will have to bury an empty casket."
He stormed away. He didn't need to stay to know that he'd made Narcissa Malfoy cry again.
When he got to his room he locked the door and sank to the floor.
"Rough day then?" A smooth voice came from the shadows.
Draco tilted his head back and found Blaise Zabini in front of him.
"What do you want, Zabini?"
"Me? Nothing," Blaise said, "I came because I heard the most interesting story today and I thought you'd want to know. Apparently some non-Ministry VIP conjured up a fireball with his bare hands and used it to break down Emeliory Bogfeld's door. I don't suppose you know any details, I heard you were at the Department of Magical Creatures earlier."
Draco stared frostily at Zabini.
"Also, I stopped by Hermione Granger's office late this afternoon, to assure her of my continued support for the WRA, of course. To my surprise she had left the office just after lunch and didn't return for the rest of the day. I had no idea she even could leave that office, I thought she lived there."
"Shut up."
"I suppose you know where she lives, don't you, Drake?"
"Shut up, Zabini!"
"Must be handy, always being able to find her. You can feel her right? When she's awake or asleep. If she's happy... I heard she was in Emeliory's office when the hinges blew off. Was she scared? Did you feel it?"
"I said shut it!" Draco roared, jumping up and storming toward his friend, pulling his fist back to pummel Zabini's smug face, he swung and his hand passed through empty air. Zabini was gone. Or rather, he hadn't been there in the first place.
Another hallucination.
Draco dropped onto his bed. At least this time it hadn't been Granger. Normally it was Granger; last night it had been. It was always the same conversation.
She would stand at the foot of his bed staring at him with revulsion twisting up her features, reciting every nasty thing he'd ever done to her; telling him how he made her skin crawl; pulling up the sleeve of her shirt and showing him the word carved into her arm, reminding him that he'd been there, that he'd stood and watched; and then asking if he was really going rob her of any chance of happiness by forcing her to bond with him. She'd cry and beg him to leave her alone. Then she'd vanish.
It had devastated him so much he'd dragged himself from bed and gone to Ministry; he had to see her with his own eyes. See if he could help her with the WRA one last time; to watch her smile in assurance and satisfaction at what they were about to accomplish.
Then everything had gone to hell.
Now she knew.
It felt as if all the remaining scraps of control he had were slipping away. When she had stared at him, chewing her lower lip with worry, he knew she'd feel obligated to save him; like she tried to save house-elves and werewolves and centaurs, and it made him sick to think that he'd just be another item on the list of things she felt morally compelled to sacrifice herself life and wellbeing for.
So he threw every mean thing he could think of at her. Every shred of vulnerability that he'd ever found, he shoved in her face. He'd felt it when they hit their mark.
He lay in bed and wished he would hurry up and die. He didn't want to give Granger to time to decide to get over her hurt and throw herself at him fueled with her righteous intention of saving him from himself. He wasn't sure how much more strength he had to push her away.
Pulling out his wand he cast every barricade and ward spell he knew at the door.
The cold was creeping over him again. He rolled over and prayed to sleep.
~~~~~~~~~~~~
Narcissa Malfoy had been sitting in the rain on the steps leading up to Hermione Granger's flat for an hour before the muggleborn witch arrived home.
The girl was so startled she nearly dropped the stack of books she was levitating behind her.
"Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Miss Granger." Narcissa tried to look dignified as she cast a drying charm on herself. "I'm sure you know why I'm here. I need to speak with you about my son."
"Of course," Hermione said, unlocking her front door and inviting her in. "I was just at the library trying to get a better grasp of things."
"Yes. I see." Narcissa nodded as she followed Hermione into the living room.
She and Miss Granger had met many times over the years through their joint sponsorship of the Werewolf Fosterage Program and over time their relationship had lost the strain of past offenses and become cordial. However, past familiarity was insufficient to overcome the level of unease Narcissa felt over having apparated to Hermione's home with the express purpose of begging her to save her son.
"I hope you aren't offended that I asked Emeliory Bogfeld to approach you in my place," Narcissa found herself babbling as she stood awkwardly by the fireplace. "I thought—that given Draco and your history that it might be better to involve a third party, at least to explain the—difficulty of everything."
"Yes. I understand. Miss Bogfeld was an ideal person to have approach me. She has a great deal of experience explaining magical bonding. I probably would have been more caught off guard if you had tried to explain the situation yourself."
Narcissa nodded, relieved. "Well, that's good to hear. I heard you ran into Draco afterward..."
Hermione's expression tightened. "Yes. He seemed—upset that I learned about everything."
"He was—rather put off when he returned home."
Narcissa paused for several moments gathering her nerve.
"Miss Granger, as I'm sure you know, my son means that world to me. You know the risks I'm willing to take to protect him and this situation is no exception. He is certain you could never return his feelings and so he's decided to die instead of even trying to convince you. I wish I could respect my son's wishes, but before I step back and watch, I must ask if there is any chance of saving him."
Hermione looked conflicted.
"I had no idea that Malfoy had any sort of interest in me," she said, plucking a book off the top the pile and nervously turning it over in her hands. "When we spoke today he said he loathed me and that having a creature inside him that's attracted to me was the most vile thing that has ever happened to him. I realize that he was mostly lying, based on what I gathered from my research. But—at the same time, it's an idea that's difficult to reconcile with the Draco Malfoy I have always known."
Narcissa felt a choked laugh rip painfully from her.
"He said that he loathes you?" She sank into one of Hermione's chairs without invitation, feeling like she might faint if she didn't. "Draco has been in love with you for years, probably longer than he knows. He used to talk about you constantly. All of school break, and my letters from him were filled with stories about you. It was Granger this and Granger that, and how he was going to beat your marks and the expression on your face when he answered a question in potions. I was with him when the Death Eaters attacked the Quidditch World Cup your fourth year, he turned white as a sheet when he realized they were targeting muggleborns."
Narcissa realized she was rambling and caught herself. "I am not asking you to disregard the hurt he has caused you over the years. However, I hope you'll realize he's kept you at arms length because he cared about you."
Hermione nibbled her lower lip and ran her hands nervously over the cover of the book on her lap.
"I was doing some research today. I realized based on Emeliory's comments that he's part Veela; it's unusual for Veela traits to manifest in later generations isn't it? How much Veela does he have in him?"
"Yes." Narcissa glanced away, feeling uncomfortable by the turn in conversation. "The Veela comes from my side of the family, the Blacks had an arranged marriage and chose not to perform a bonding ceremony in their vows...so that they would be at liberty to pursue—other interests. Because of that, it allowed my mother to form a bond with a Veela, and I was born. It wasn't exactly proper, but..."
"Oh," said Hermione. She'd turned somewhat pink. "That's why you look so different from your sisters." She gestured up toward Narcissa's hair.
"Yes." Narcissa nodded, blushing slightly herself. She had never confided these details to anyone she didn't know intimately. "All that to say, Draco is a quarter-Veela, like Mrs Delacour-Weasley. However, the traits have manifested more strongly in him than they usually do. I met with a healer who specializes in part Veela manifestations; he believes that the war was likely the catalyst. Draco was just reaching adulthood then and the difficulty of—everything, it may have caused him to subconsciously tap into whatever help his Veela blood could provide."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully.
"That makes sense. I stopped by the Ministry archive on my way home. It seems from the records that there has been a spike in magical bondings since the war."
The conversation lapsed for several minutes as each woman waited for the other to speak. Finally Hermione spoke again.
"Mrs Malfoy—" she stammered slightly, "I'd like to be able to help Draco, but—I'd be lying if I said I had any feelings for him beyond my respect for his post-war efforts. I know that isn't what you hoped to hear."
Narcissa hadn't expected a different answer but hearing it still felt like being struck by a bludger. She could feel the blood drain from her face and she tried to look away as she blinked away the tears that welled up in her eyes.
"Of course." She stood up, fighting to keep her voice even. "You understand that I had to ask."
"Wait." Hermione grasped her hand and kept her from turning toward the door.
Narcissa looked at her warily, trying to tamp down on the sense of hope that she was afraid to indulge in.
"I don't have any feelings for him," she said, looking flustered. "I'm honestly still trying to wrap my mind around the idea he sees me as anything but a political tool. And—it seems Draco doesn't want me to bond with him just to save him—even if I am willing to. But—this is his life that's at stake, so I'd like to see if there's..." her voice trailed off.
Narcissa burst into tears and sank back onto the couch, feeling hysterical with relief.
"Really? You'll try to help?" She sobbed.
"This isn't a promise that anything will come of it."
Narcissa nodded. "Of course. Of course I understand that. I'm just so glad you're willing to consider." Her mind was already racing with ideas of how to assure success. "We just need to find a way to get around his defenses; you're used to seeing him at his most guarded, it's important that we catch him off guard..."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Draco jerked awake. His teeth were chattering and it seemed that no number of layers or warming charms could ease the cold he felt. He reached blindly for his wand but couldn't find it under his pillow.
"Miffy," he called, dragging himself up in bed. The elf didn't appear, at least he didn't think she had. He looked around the room slowly trying to see if he'd missed it. Then he saw her.
Granger.
She was sitting quietly on a couch across the room, his wand in her hands.
His breath caught and his heart immediately tripled its pace. He stared at her and she stared back. He wanted to look away—he knew she wasn't really there—but the sight of her made his blood thrum with magic and he felt pulled to her, even though he knew she'd vanish the moment he tried to touch her.
Finally he dragged his eyes away from her.
"Please go away, Granger."
She didn't say anything, passing his wand nervously from one hand to the other.
"This is usually the part where you tell me how much you hate me," he said in a dull voice, wondering where the hallucination was going. He supposed it might be different, now that she really knew.
"Why do you think I hate you, Malfoy?"
He stared helplessly at her.
"I can feel you." He gripped the fabric over his heart. "Every time you see me, you're suspicious. When you ran into me at the Ministry the other night, you were scared. I know what you feel when you're with anyone else, whether it's Potter, or coworkers you hardly know. Everything about you is warm—but you turn cold at the sight of me. It wasn't hard to draw conclusions from there."
"You can feel me? That's—that's not a common symptom in bonding."
"Good to know you're doing your research," he said dryly. "It's just flickers of things, it's not constant."
"And that's why you think I hate you?"
"Yes," he said in a forced voice.
"I don't hate very many people, Malfoy." she said quietly.
"I know." He swallowed and looked down at his lap.
Hermione stood up and started walking slowly toward his bed.
"I don't hate you. I don't even dislike you, honestly. I admit I tend to be suspicious of your motives, but you're a Slytherin and a lobbyist, being sneaky is your job description; I'd be an irresponsible Ministry employee if I weren't suspicious of you."
Oh god, Draco realized with horror. She was really there.
"Please stay away from me, Granger," he said as she got closer to him. He could smell her and feel her warmth, his head was spinning. She'd left his wand across the room. He couldn't cast a barrier spell against her.
"Malfoy," she said, when she reached his bed. "Why didn't you ever try being nice to me?"
"Because—because—" he pushed himself across the bed to get away from her, feeling like the words were being dragged out of him, "I know you don't trust me. I was afraid you'd think I was doing it to manipulate you and you wouldn't let us work together anymore."
"I see," she said. Then, to his utter disbelief, she climbed onto his bed. "But you also think that I'm such a paragon of virtue that I'd still sacrifice myself to save you. Despite hating you?"
"That's what you're doing now," his voice was strangled as he dragged himself off his bed and collapsed against the wall, shivering violently. He needed another dose of potion, it had only been a few hours and it had worn off.
"Miffy!" he yelled.
Granger crawled across his bed and knelt in front of him.
If he hadn't felt like he was dying of hypothermia he would probably would have become instantly hard at the sight.
"Draco," she said softly, and he realized she was running a diagnostic spell on him. "How long has it been since you took the potion and how high was the dose?"
"I don't know," he said. His head was swimming until he could hardly think. He could feel her body radiating warmth and the compulsion to drag her against him and absorb her heat while exploring every inch of her skin made it very hard to form complete thoughts. "Three hours? I took maybe 1000ml?"
She was saying something but he couldn't hear it, his ears were roaring and he just wanted—wanted to reach out and touch her, just once.
"Malfoy?" He heard her calling him.
"Please—" He groaned, pushing himself away from her, "Granger, please stay away. I can't—I don't want to hurt you."
She just kept moving toward him.
"Malfoy, you don't have very much time left," she said.
"I know," he ground out the words through gritted teeth. "That's why you need to get away from me. I'm not your cause, Granger."
"I know," she said in a soft reassuring voice.
He stared dazedly up at her. Her face seemed to draw closer.
She kissed him.
It was like she was the sun. The whole world exploded with light as her lips touched his; like touching pure magic.
Any shred of remaining thought fled as she placed one hand on his cheek and the other on his neck to tilt his head back and angled their lips better. His hands came up and tangled in her hair.
He had wanted her for so long and now she was there in his arms, kissing him.
He pulled her tightly against him and slid his hands down her back, memorizing every inch. Pulling away from her mouth he desperately peppered hot, open-mouthed kisses along the column of her neck, tasting her skin. His fingers were skimming along the hem of her shirt, ghosting over her stomach and he started sliding his hands under her clothes and up her body toward her breasts.
She gave a small breathy moan and it vibrated through him, turning his blood into fire.
She was his. She had come to him. She was his. He could take her...
She put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away.
He stared at her, breathing raggedly. He reached out, to pull her back—but she stepped further away and he felt like he'd been kicked in the stomach as he watched her awkwardly smooth her hair and straighten her clothes.
"Why—?" he helplessly demanded. The urge to drag her back and take what she had denied him felt like a monster clawing its way out of his chest. His fingers were curling compulsively into into claws that he couldn't corporealize.
Then he felt it, her fear. He was scaring her.
She thought he would force himself on her.
He snatched his hands back.
He felt sick. He wouldn't—He would never—never hurt her. But she thought he would.
He looked away from her, fighting to reign in the thrum of want that pulsed through him. Everything was worse now. He'd been resigned to his fate; but now after tasting the forbidden—
He wanted to live.
He also wanted to die. Right then. So that he wouldn't have to endure another second of whatever vengeance Granger seemed determined to wreak upon him.
He hadn't realized she could be cruel. In the scenarios he'd imagined, she'd merely declined and left him to die. This was worse, and it confused him. It was contradictory to everything he thought he knew about her. That she hated him had been one thing to accept, but whatever this was, it exceed what he had prepared himself for.
Granger was staring at him, her face filled with remorse.
"I'm sorry, Malfoy, it was the only thing I could do to bring you back."
She hovered over him worriedly, maintaining a careful distance, and cast another diagnostic spell.
"Can you see now?"
"What?" Draco had no idea what she was doing any longer. He blinked and realizing that the room was flooded with light and warm enough to suffocate him.
He stared at Granger with rising horror. "What did you do?"
"I—" Hermione blushed, "Well, it was the only way to bring you back. I read about it in a book on magical bonds. It's temporary, to relieve you of your—symptoms. It fades after a few days, but it gives us some time."
"Time for what?" he asked although he was pretty damn sure he knew exactly where she was going. Everything made sense again, Granger was a martyr, all was once again predictable in the world.
"For us to talk. To figure out what to do. Whether we can work something out together."
Draco drew himself up and brushed nonexistent lint from his shoulders.
"There's nothing for us to talk about, Granger. This doesn't change anything. I told you already that I find you vile and loathsome. Taking advantage of me in a weakened state in order to fulfill your hero complex doesn't change anything. Get. Out. Of. My. House!"
Hermione crumpled slightly. Draco stepped towards her without thinking.
She was hurting, he could feel it. Not at his rejection but from something else.
She held her hand up to ward him off and he froze, struggling to mask his concern.
She straightened. "Well." She exhaled slowly. "That's a lot more intense than I'd expected."
She drew a deep, steadying breath.
"What is? What did you do?" he said, his heart beginning to pound.
"Our emotional bond. Feeling you. I hadn't realized—"
"Our—what?" Draco choked.
"Yes." Hermione said. Her eyes bright and a sly smile playing on her lips. "The temporary bond works by sharing the magic that's wreaking havoc in you by siphoning some of it into me. That means that things go both ways now. So I can feel you the way you've been able to feel me."
She cocked her head to the side and looked at him thoughtfully.
"I'd almost believe that you find me vile and loathsome if you hadn't felt like you were dying as you said it." Her expression softened into one tinged with sadness, "Does thinking about me always hurt this much?"