Chapter Text
Chapter 12
The following Saturday morning, Hermione went looking for Draco.
He was exactly where she expected him to be, standing beside one of the tall common room windows with a book open in his hands. Whether he was actually reading it was another matter entirely.
The morning sun caught in his hair, turning the pale strands almost silver.
He looked up as she approached.
She smiled at him. “Good morning.”
“It is,” he said, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
“I was hoping you might say that.” Hermione folded her arms. “I have a question.”
Draco closed the book, turning his attention toward her.
“That sounds dangerous.”
“It probably is.”
His mouth curved.
“What have you been plotting this time?”
Hermione ignored that.
“Theo mentioned you fly every Saturday.”
His smile faded into something more curious. “I do.”
“I was wondering…” Hermione looked almost embarrassed. “…whether I could come.”
Draco blinked.
“Flying?”
“Oh, Merlin, no.” She looked genuinely horrified. “I’m not getting on a broom.”
A laugh escaped him before he could stop it. Hermione decided she rather liked the sound.
“I meant…” She cleared her throat. “I thought I might bring a book.”
“And watch?”
“I’ll be reading.”
“You’ll be watching.”
“I’ll mostly be reading.”
Draco looked unconvinced. “I don’t imagine there’ll be much to watch.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow. “I heard you’re rather good.”
A faint flush stained the bridge of his nose.
“I used to be.”
Without really thinking about it, she stepped a little closer.
“I’d still like to come.”
For a moment, he simply looked at her. Then he smiled.
“I’d like that.”
The smile lingered even after he looked back at the page.
Hermione caught herself smiling as she turned towards the girls’ staircase. She had taken no more than three steps when another voice carried across the common room.
“You hate flying.”
She stopped.
Ron was standing near the portrait hole, a piece of toast in one hand and a Quidditch magazine tucked beneath his arm. Harry lingered just behind him, already looking as though he regretted being anywhere near the conversation.
Hermione turned back.
“I do.”
Ron frowned.
“Then why are you going flying?”
“I’m not.”
He looked pointedly towards Draco.
“What was that then?”
“I asked if I could watch.”
“That’s still going.”
Hermione folded her arms.
“I wasn’t aware sitting in the stands counted as participating.”
Ron let out an incredulous laugh.
“Hermione, you wouldn’t even come and watch me train.”
Harry winced.
Draco quietly closed his book. “I don’t think—”
“No one asked you,” Ron snapped.
The common room fell abruptly silent.
Draco’s expression didn’t change. He dipped his head once and returned to his book.
Harry opened his mouth, then seemed to think better of it.
Somehow, that made Hermione even more irritated.
“I came to plenty of your matches.”
“Matches,” Ron corrected. “Not practice.”
“You trained almost every day.”
“Exactly.”
“And I had coursework.”
“You always had coursework.”
“I was studying,” she snapped. “When I wasn’t keeping the two of you alive.”
“You could have made time.”
Hermione stared at him, her next words escaping her before she had fully considered them.
“I’ve made time now.”
Ron blinked.
The hurt on his face was so immediate she couldn’t take it back.
“I don’t understand you.”
“No,” Hermione agreed. “I don’t think you do.”
Ginny appeared from the girls’ staircase just in time to cut through the atmosphere.
She looked between Hermione, Ron and Draco.
“What did I miss?” Ginny sighed. “Honestly, can none of you survive until tea time without arguing?”
Theo wandered sleepily from the boys’ staircase at precisely that moment, took one look around the room and immediately turned back.
“No,” he announced. “I’ll come back when everyone’s emotionally stable.”
Hermione laughed before she could stop it.
Even Draco ducked his head, his shoulders shaking once.
Theo paused, pointing between the two of them. “It’s getting worse.”
“What is?” Ron demanded.
“The smiling.” Theo’s grin widened. “I rather like it.”
Later, Theo accompanied her to the entrance hall, lingering long enough to clap Draco on the shoulder.
“Try not to fall off.”
“I wasn’t planning to.”
Theo looked solemnly at Hermione. “You’ve hated flying since first year. Don’t let him corrupt you.”
“I’ll do my best.”
“I don’t believe you.”
With that, he wandered away towards the library, whistling cheerfully to himself.
Hermione glanced sideways. “He’s a menace.”
“He considers it a public service,” Draco said drily, leading her towards the door.
Outside, the morning air was crisp enough to sting her cheeks. Autumn had left the grass glittering with the last traces of frost where the sun had yet to reach.
Hermione pulled her cardigan a little tighter around herself.
“I should have worn my jumper.”
Draco stopped walking.
She turned back to find him unwinding the green and silver scarf from around his neck.
“You’ll freeze,” she protested as he stepped closer.
“I’ll survive,” he muttered, carefully draping the scarf around her shoulders. His fingers brushed lightly against the ends of her hair as he tucked the fabric into place. Hermione forgot entirely what she’d been about to say.
“That’s better.” His voice was quiet.
She looked down at the scarf now covering her Gryffindor badge.
“You don’t have to—”
“I wanted to.” He smiled faintly.
A warmth spread through her chest that had very little to do with wool.
“It’ll smell like me now,” she said before she could think better of it.
Draco’s ears turned pink.
“I was…” he hesitated, suddenly looking fascinated by the grass beneath their feet. “…rather hoping it might.”
Hermione blinked.
His voice became almost apologetic.
“It’s a Veela thing.” He looked mortified. “I realise how strange that sounds.”
She reached up, gathering the scarf a little closer around herself.
“It doesn’t.”
Draco looked up.
“No?”
Hermione smiled, looking down at the scarf wrapped carefully around her shoulders. “I’m beginning to understand that quite a lot of Veela things only sound strange until you know why.”
Draco looked at her for a long moment, and then he smiled.
Hermione wasn’t entirely certain what had changed over the past few weeks, only that silence with Draco no longer felt awkward.
Eventually, he cleared his throat.
“We should probably go.”
He gestured towards the path leading down to the Quidditch pitch.
“After you.”
Hermione fell into step beside him instead. They walked most of the way without speaking. The castle grounds were unusually peaceful for a Saturday morning. A handful of younger students crossed the lawn, bundled in scarves and hats against the cold. Somewhere in the distance an owl swooped low over the black lake.
Hermione tucked Draco’s scarf a little closer around herself. It was warmer than she expected. Heavy and comforting. Unmistakably his. She wondered if he realised he smelled of apples all the time, or whether only she noticed.
She smiled.
“What?”
She looked up.
“Hm?”
“You’re smiling.”
“I am?”
“You are.”
Hermione looked away, following the line of frost along the railings.
“I was thinking about your scarf.”
Draco’s eyebrows lifted.
“My scarf?”
“It smells nice.”
His ears turned pink again.
“I’m beginning to think you’re doing that deliberately.”
“What?”
“Making me blush.”
Hermione looked positively offended. “I have never deliberately made anyone blush.”
“No?”
“No.”
Draco considered her for a moment.
“I don’t believe you.”
The empty stands around the quidditch pitch glistened with frost, and the goalposts stretched into the pale sky.
Draco slowed.
“I won’t be long.”
Hermione looked up at him.
“I’m in no hurry.”
He reached into the equipment shed and withdrew his broom. Hermione knew enough to recognise it as the Nimbus Two Thousand and One, though it looked older now than it did the first year he made Seeker. The polished handle was marked by years of careful use, the twigs worn smooth from countless flights.
He rested one hand against the shaft almost absently. He looked more at ease than she’d seen him all year.
Hermione climbed into the stands with her book.
She opened it.
She even managed to read the first sentence.
Then Draco kicked gently away from the ground and Hermione never turned another page.
He flew like he belonged there.
Hermione had seen him play Quidditch. She’d spent years watching the cocky boy who had strutted onto the pitch with a brand-new Nimbus and enough confidence to fill the stands. She remembered shouting insults across the pitch, watching Harry chase the Snitch while Draco circled above like he was watching prey.
But there was no audience now. No house rivalry and no need to prove anything.
He simply flew.
The rigid line of his shoulders relaxed the moment his feet left the ground. He climbed effortlessly above the pitch before banking into a smooth downward spiral, the movement so graceful it seemed impossible that it belonged to the same man who struggled to climb the stairs some mornings.
Hermione had seen brilliant flyers.
Natural competitors like Harry.
Sky-born predators like Krum.
She had never realised flying could look beautiful.
Draco’s hair caught the wind and for one fleeting moment he looked weightless. Free. Without warning, a warmth bloomed in Hermione’s chest that wasn’t entirely her own.
She knew that with certainty now.
She could feel Draco’s joy humming through the bond, bright and uncomplicated in a way she’d never experienced before. For the first time, she didn’t try and separate it from her own. Instead, she closed the book in her lap and let herself feel it.
“You’ve given up on pretending to read, then?”
Hermione looked around to see Theo making his way up the wooden steps towards her, two steaming mugs balanced carefully in his hands.
“I brought tea.”
She accepted one gratefully. “Thank you.”
Theo settled onto the bench beside her, following her gaze out across the pitch. For several moments, neither of them spoke. They simply watched Draco fly.
“He’s smiling.” Theo took a thoughtful sip of tea. “I almost forgot what that looked like.”
Hermione looked back towards the sky. Draco had begun flying faster now, leaning into each turn effortlessly. There was something instinctive about it, as though the broom understood him as well as he understood it.
“He loves it up there,” she said absently, watching him soar.
Theo smiled faintly. “He used to spend entire summers in the air.”
Hermione glanced sideways.
“Really?”
“The house elves hated it,” he laughed wistfully. “They’d spend hours trying to convince him to come inside for meals.”
His smile faded, his words quieter. “He doesn’t look well.”
Hermione followed his gaze back to Draco. The smile was still there, but so was the pallor. Even from this distance she could see how thin he’d become. The happiness hadn’t cured him; it had only made the contrast more obvious.
“I know,” she said softly.
Theo was silent for a moment, and then—
“I don’t know what’s happening.”
Neither do I.
The lie caught painfully in Hermione’s throat.
She knew.
But it wasn’t her secret to tell.
Hermione tightened both hands around the warm mug.
“I wish I could help him.” She said instead.
“So do I.” Theo smiled sadly.
Above them, Draco laughed.
The sound drifted down the wind so unexpectedly that both of them looked up. Hermione’s breath caught. He was happier than she’d ever seen him.
Then his broom faltered.
For one impossible second, Hermione convinced herself she’d imagined it.
Brooms lurched all the time.
They corrected themselves.
Then Draco’s grip loosened, his body listing sideways as the broom rolled beneath him.
“Draco!” The cry tore from her before Draco even began to descend.
Theo was already on his feet beside her, the two forgotten mugs hitting the wooden benches with a crack as tea splashed across the steps.
Hermione didn’t remember drawing her wand, only the thud of wooden steps as she scrambled down to the grass.
“Arresto Momentum!”
The spell struck him just before he hit the ground.
It slowed the fall.
Not enough.
Hermione reached him a heartbeat later, throwing herself to the frosted ground where he lay frighteningly still.
“Draco?” Theo skidded to his knees beside them.
No response.
His skin was ice cold, but beads of sweat covered his brow.
Hermione’s heart hammered so violently she could barely hear Theo’s frantic diagnostic spells. She pressed trembling fingers against his neck.
A pulse.
Weak.
Relief flooded her so suddenly it almost made her dizzy.
She brushed Draco’s fringe back from his forehead with shaking fingers, distantly aware of Theo calling out for someone to send for Madam Pomfrey.
“Come on,” she whispered, tugging him gently until his head rested in her lap. “You promised.”
The journey to the Hospital Wing passed in blurred fragments.
Hermione couldn’t remember walking.
At some point, Headmistress McGonagall had appeared.
Theo refused to leave Draco’s side.
Hermione could still feel the faint thread of warmth through the bond.
At last, Madam Pomfrey lowered her wand. The silence in the Hospital Wing felt unnaturally loud around them. Hermione stood beside the bed while Theo paced the length of the room for what had to be the twentieth time.
Finally, Pomfrey looked at Hermione.
“You were told this would happen.”
Hermione swallowed. “I know.”
“No.” Pomfrey’s expression softened. “I don’t think you do.”
She folded her hands, pausing as she looked over her patient.
“Every time Mr Malfoy refuses what his magic requires his body compensates.”
Hermione frowned. “So he’s weaker?”
“He is.” Pomfrey’s voice remained calm. “But not naturally.”
Hermione felt her stomach tighten.
“The Veela magic is trying to complete the bond.” She looked down at Draco. “When it cannot, it begins taking strength from somewhere else.”
Hermione stared. “Somewhere else?”
“He is consuming himself, Miss Granger.”
The words settled over the room like ice.
“He is feeding the bond with his own magic.”
Hermione’s eyes never left Draco. “Does he know this?”
Pomfrey hesitated. “I warned him months ago that eventually there won’t be enough left to sacrifice.”
Hermione closed her eyes.
He wasn’t exhausted.
He was dying.
Because he’d chosen her freedom over his own life.
It was several hours later when Draco stirred. Hermione was already awake, watching for any changes while Theo slept in a pile of their robes on the floor. She was on her feet at once. For a moment he simply looked at the ceiling, then he turned his head.
“Hermione.” His voice was hoarse.
She smiled despite the tears prickling her eyes. “You frightened us.”
A faint crease appeared between his brows and his mouth opened to speak, interrupted only by the rushing of curtains as Madam Pomfrey peeled them from around the bed.
“How do you feel, Mr Malfoy?” She asked, checking his vitals with her wand.
“Fine.” He murmured, flinching away from her wand tip.
Hermione reached gently for his hand.
“We can’t keep pretending this isn’t happening.”
Draco closed his eyes. “I’ve managed this far.”
“No.” Her voice cracked. “I won’t stand here and watch you kill yourself, blindly believing that you’ll simply wake up better tomorrow.”
Silence settled between them. When Draco finally opened his eyes again, he didn’t argue. He only looked relieved.
By the time Madam Pomfrey reluctantly discharged him, dusk had begun settling over the castle.
“Just—” Theo looked at Draco, exasperated. “Go and sit somewhere safe, would you? Let me have an hour in the library before I have to worry about your life again. All right mate?”
He sighed, patting Draco’s shoulder before moving off down the corridor.
Hermione fussed quietly with the scarf around his neck.
“Promise me something.”
He glanced at her.
“What?”
“Don’t disappear somewhere on your own.”
A faint smile touched his mouth.
“I wasn’t planning to brood.”
“No?”
“I was planning to do my Astronomy homework.”
“Oh.” She murmured, stroking the tail of the scarf down his chest.
“You’re welcome to join me.” He hesitated. “We can go back to the common room and collect your things.”
Hermione smiled. “It’s a date.”
Draco looked at her, and for one heartbeat she wondered whether he’d correct her.
Instead, the corner of his mouth lifted.
“Alright.”