Chapter Text
February 24th, 1997
Draco was halfway to the Great Hall when Hermione’s voice slipped into his mind, sharp with irritation and warm with morning familiarity.
Dray, I swear to Merlin, if Harry and Ron read one more note from that stupid Potions book like it’s sacred scripture, I’m going to throw it into the lake.
Draco nearly smiled at her early morning ruthlessness. It had been like this for the past four days. He started walking more quickly, adjusting his coat. The corridor was still cold with morning shadow, the torches flickering low against the stone walls as students drifted past in half-awake clusters. He made sure to really adjust the cuff of his sleeve over the Dark Mark, more out of habit than necessity, and leaned into the bond.
Good morning to you too, Mia, he replied back sarcastically, knowing how much it would annoy her.
Do not use that tone with me.
What tone?
The one that says you find my suffering amusing.
I find most of Weasley’s existence amusing in a tragic, zoological sort of way.
He felt her huff through the bond, half-annoyed, half-laughing now.
Harry keeps defending the book. Ron asked to borrow it again after breakfast. I told them both it’s cheating.
It is cheating.
Thank you!
But effective cheating. Slughorn was the idiot who gave them the book in the first place.
Draco.
What? I’m morally compromised. You knew this.
Her answering warmth brushed against his ribs. Then he rounded the corner and nearly walked into Theo.
His best friend was leaning against the wall with his arms crossed, curls in complete disarray, looking far too awake for that hour of the morning.
Draco cut the connection to Hermione gently, but she still lingered at the edges of his mind.
Theo tilted his head. “Were you flirting with my sister before breakfast?”
Draco stared at him in utter abhorrence. “That is a deeply disturbing sentence, Theo. I believe we've had this conversation before. You cannot call Granger your sister and then state I'm your brother. It's very inces—”
“Answer the question.”
“No, I was not.”
“So yes.”
Draco sighed and continued walking. Theo fell into step beside him, looking thoroughly pleased with himself.
“Honestly,” Theo said, shaking his head. “The two of you are revolting. Adorable, but revolting. Like a pair of emotionally damaged kneazles that somehow imprinted on each other.”
“I’m going to push you down the stairs one day.”
“I’ll haunt you.”
“You already do.”
Theo grinned, and for a moment, he looked more like himself than he had in weeks. The conversation he'd had with Hermione a few days earlier had helped more than he would ever openly admit. The dark cloud that had been hanging over him since Harry started pulling away wasn't quite as suffocating now, and the manic energy that usually defined him had begun to return in flashes. Even so, there were moments when the old sadness crept back in uninvited—usually whenever Scarhead was involved.
As they approached the main staircase, the humour in his expression softened slightly, and for the briefest moment, Draco caught a glimpse of the worry still lingering beneath the surface.
“Weaselbee has been attached to Potter and Worm like a particularly needy barnacle,” he said, voice dropping.
Draco’s jaw tightened. “I noticed.”
“He’s been less awful to her.”
“Good. We'll still keep an eye on him, though.”
Theo looked sideways at him. Draco ignored him.
They walked in silence for a few steps, the morning crowd growing thicker around them. Ravenclaws hurried past with stacks of books. A group of Hufflepuffs argued about Herbology homework. Somewhere ahead, Peeves was singing something obscene about Filch and a pair of enchanted trousers.
Theo’s voice lowered again.
“I still think it’s Vince.”
Draco’s expression hardened. “The spy?”
“Yeah.”
The blonde didn't respond affirmatively because he had to admit that after their conversation in the library nook, he was starting to believe it too. He had noticed how Vincent’s vacant stare had become too deliberate, too frequent. He lingered near Draco’s conversations, turned up where he shouldn’t, and had suddenly developed an interest in where Draco spent his evenings.
“I don’t think Blaise is clean,” Draco muttered, finally giving Theo something of an answer. “But I don’t think he’s theirs. Not like that.”
Theo nodded. “Same.”
They reached the doors of the Great Hall. Draco stepped inside and stopped. Anger rose in his chest, and he was finding it particularly hard to control himself.
Across the hall, at the Gryffindor table, Ronald fucking Weasley had his arms around Hermione. It wasn’t...it didn't look...romantic. Draco knew that.
Hermione’s posture was stiff with surprise, her hands hovering awkwardly before patting Ron’s back once. It looked like some clumsy attempt at gratitude or apology. Beside them, Ginny leaned down and kissed Harry on the cheek, casual and familiar, and Harry gave her a tired smile.
Theo stopped beside Draco, his face going very still.
Jealousy continued to hit Draco like a hex to the sternum. He was being an idiot; he knew this. The world could see that Hermione did not want Weasley. But he was jealous that the stupid, mangy redheaded imbecile could hug her so freely, smile at her, be her friend. And Draco, who loved her with a desperation that terrified him, couldn’t even brush her fingers in a corridor without risking her life.
Theo’s expression was harder to read, but Draco felt the shift in him. The glance towards Ginny. The tightening around his mouth. The old fear that Harry would always choose the Weasleys first.
Suddenly, as if the tension in the room wasn't big enough, the Weasel looked up. Their eyes met.
For a second, something dark flashed across Weasley’s face. Abruptly, he pulled away from Hermione and stood. She quickly turned around, saw where he was looking, and her entire expression changed.
Dray.
Stay there, Draco ordered. Don't do anything Gryffindor.
No, I can explain to him—
Hermione. Stay there. If he comes to us, Theo and I will handle him.
Her panic spiked. He could feel it through the bond. He tried to calm her down, but her anxiety was overpowering his own emotions. Without thinking twice about it, Draco turned and walked away from the Great Hall, Theo beside him. He could tell immediately that Ronald was following him. Worse than that was the final message he got from Hermione before he disconnected from the bond.
Harry is going with him. Everything will be ok. Harry will explain everything to him as well as he can. Please...please...be careful...
The boys’ lavatory on the second floor was empty, damp, and echoing. One of the taps dripped steadily into a cracked sink, and the air smelled faintly of mildew and old soap.
Draco turned near the sinks, folding his arms.
Theo leaned against the wall, though his wand was already tucked into his hand.
Ron burst in first, face flushed, jaw tight.
Harry entered behind him, breathing hard. “Ron, don’t, you need to lis—”
“Shut up, Harry.”
Draco arched a brow. “Charming. Did you follow us to practise your manners, Weasley, or are you lost?”
Ron's hands curled into fists so tight his knuckles turned white. Colour flooded his face, climbing from his neck to his ears until even his freckles seemed to stand out against the furious red.
“Are you disappointed I’m not dead, Malfoy?”
The words hit the room like a dropped blade.
Beside Draco, Theo straightened almost imperceptibly.
Most people wouldn't have noticed. Most people wouldn't have recognised the subtle shift. The lazy posture vanished. The careless expression disappeared. Even the faint amusement that seemed permanently attached to Theodore Nott evaporated.
Draco, however, did not react at all.
Years of pure-blood politics, Death Eater dinners, and surviving Lord Voldemort's attention had taught him that the most dangerous thing he could do was react emotionally.
Especially when someone wanted him to.
Especially when someone was watching.
And someone was always watching.
His expression remained perfectly neutral as his mind raced through possibilities.
Had Weasley learned something?
Had he noticed a discrepancy?
Had he remembered something he shouldn't?
Or was this simply grief, fear, and anger looking for somewhere to land?
Slowly, Draco lifted his eyes to meet Ron's. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
The response was measured and precise, every word carefully chosen. Just enough truth wrapped around enough ambiguity to force Ron to keep talking.
Ron, unfortunately, was too angry to notice.
And as Draco watched the rage burning behind the Gryffindor's eyes, an unpleasant feeling settled low in his stomach. Because this wasn't really about the poisoning.
Something else was festering beneath the surface.
Something that had been building for weeks.
Perhaps months. Maybe years.
“Don’t lie. I know it was you.”
Harry stepped forward. “Ron, we talked about this—”
“No, you talked. I listened to everyone making excuses for what happened. But I know deep down he is up to something, and he is somehow involved in what happened to me, and what happened to Katie!” Ron pointed at Draco. “You yourself, Harry, have been warning us all year. Malfoy’s up to something. Then I nearly die after eating chocolates meant for Harry and drinking Slughorn’s poisoned wine? That’s not a coincidence. That’s an elaborate plan.”
Theo stared at him. Then he laughed.
“Merlin’s saggy left bollock, you really are thick.”
Ron rounded on him. “What did you say?”
The Slytherin Chaos pushed away from the wall. “I said you’re an idiot. Need me to write it down? Perhaps draw pictures?”
“Theo,” Harry warned.
A muscle jumped in Theo's jaw.
For weeks, he'd watched Harry bend himself into knots trying to keep the peace. Watched him excuse Ron's temper, his accusations, his increasingly reckless behaviour. Watched him apologise for things that weren't his fault and shoulder burdens that belonged to everyone else.
He was tired.
“No, you shut up for once, Potter. You don't get to do this again."
Confusion flashed across Harry's face.
"What are you talking about?"
"What am I talking about?" A harsh laugh escaped him. "I'm talking about the fact that every time Weasley decides to have a bloody meltdown, you immediately start trying to fix it."
Ron looked personally offended.
"Oi—"
"No, you shut up too."
That seemed to shock him more than anything.
Nobody told Ron Weasley to shut up.
Theo took a step forward, eyes blazing at Harry as he turned his accusations to the boy he thought he would have a future with, but now knew would never choose him.
"You know Draco didn’t do it, Potter. You know it. You're smarter than this. But here you are, standing between Draco, your fuckboy—that's me in case you forgot—, and your best mate like a confused bloody scarecrow trying to keep everyone happy.”
The accusation landed directly on Harry.
Ron’s eyes widened. “What the hell? Fuckboy?”
The colour drained from Theo's face as he noticed his slip-up.
Draco’s wand slipped into his hand. He knew this situation was only going to end badly.
“Enough,” Draco said coldly. “Weasley, if I wanted to kill you, I assure you that you would not currently be standing here making a spectacle of yourself in the middle of a corridor."
The words were delivered with perfect Malfoy composure. And for the first time since the confrontation began, genuine wrath flickered across Ron's face.
Before Harry could blink twice, Ron had drawn his wand.
Draco's wand came up fully from where he had it at his side.
Theo was about to try to calm the situation down when Harry panicked and drew his own, too.
“Everyone, lower your wands. There is no need for this.”
Ron shook his head. “I know he did it. I know he...He tried to kill me.”
“I didn’t,” Draco snarled. “And if you had two brain cells to rub together, you’d realise poisoning Slughorn’s wine was sloppy, unpredictable, and beneath me.”
“You are such an arrogant prick!”
“And you Weasley, are a jealous imbecile, always have been, always will be—”
"Draco, shut up, you are not helping," Theo screamed at him.
"What does it matter?" Draco shouted, years of restraint finally cracking beneath the weight of everything pressing down on him. "He does not believe me. Why are you still trying to placate him when he's already decided I'm guilty?"
"Stop!" Harry snapped.
The words echoed off the damp stone walls.
For a brief, terrible second, nobody moved.
Nobody lowered their wands either.
Harry's remained trained uncertainly between them, caught between three people he cared about and a situation spiralling far beyond his control.
Across from him, Ron's grip on his wand tightened until his knuckles turned white.
Theo had shifted closer to Draco without even realising he'd done it, positioning himself instinctively between his friend and whatever came next.
"Lower your wands," Harry demanded again, stepping forward. "All of you."
Nobody listened.
Because the moment had already passed. The point where reason could have intervened. The point where someone could have walked away. All of it had finally detonated in the midst of blind accusations, hateful words, and years of long-standing feuds.
Ron was breathing hard now, anger and humiliation twisting together into something reckless and dangerous.
Theo saw it first. The slight shift in posture. The tightening of his shoulders. The look in his eyes.
Merlin. He was actually going to do it.
"Ron..." Harry warned.
The wand in Ron's hand jerked upward, and he started throwing a spell.
At the same moment, Theo reacted. Years of Slytherin survival instincts took over.
"Expelliarmus!"
The spell burst from his wand.
But Ron had already finished shouting.
"Depulso!"
The spell hit Theo, causing him to fall sharply backward into one of the cubicles.
Draco saw Theo’s face twist in pain. And something in him snapped.
“Flipendo!”
Ron was barely able to deflect the curse, but Harry reacted on instinct. His shield charm burst between them, then a second spell flew wide and caught Theo across the shoulder.
Theo cried out as the fabric of his robes smoked, skin burning beneath.
Harry went pale. “Theo—shit, I didn’t mean—”
“Don’t,” Theo spat, clutching his shoulder. “Don’t you fucking dare.”
“Theo, listen—”
“No. You always choose them.” Theo’s voice cracked with fury. “Even now. Even when you know...even when you know Ron’s wrong. You choose them.”
Harry looked stricken. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“It’s exactly what you’re doing!”
Ron managed to force his tongue free from the most recent curse Draco had thrown his way with a garbled counterspell and swung his wand again.
Draco threw a blasting curse low, not at Ron but at the tiles near his feet, forcing him back.
A stall door ripped from its hinges and slammed into the opposite wall.
“Enough!” Draco roared.
The lavatory exploded into chaos.
A jet of blue light shattered a mirror. Draco ducked behind a stall as splinters rained down. Theo cast a darkening spell, plunging half the room into swirling shadow. Harry shouted for them to stop, but his voice was lost beneath the crack of magic hitting porcelain.
No one was listening anymore.
Draco and Ron were exchanging curses that varied from a Leg-Locker Curse to a Stinging Jinx. Because of the darkening spell, no one could really see what they were hitting, but Draco stood next to Theo, and Ron stood with Harry.
Suddenly, Theo sent a spell that wrapped around Harry’s ankles. Harry stumbled, caught himself, and shouted something Draco didn’t recognise. Ron shouted at the same time. Something equally unknown to the two Slytherins.
One red.
One white.
One word rang clear through the chaos—the only one of the two spells that Draco could understand but had never heard of before.
“Sectumsempra!”
The room was too dark, and Draco was too focused on helping Theo stand up when the two spells crossed the room.
Draco pushed Theo away as soon as he got up, and one of the spells struck him right in the chest.
At first, there was no pain; he didn’t understand it.
There was only the impact of the spell. He couldn't tell which. The red or the white.
Then, in rapid succession, wet heat.
Then the sensation of his body splitting apart.
He looked down.
Blood.
So much blood.
His knees hit the tiles as Theo screamed for help.
Draco tried to breathe, but something was wrong. Something was spilling out of him faster than he could hold it in. Slashes opened across his chest, his arms, his neck, part of his face, blooming red through torn fabric.
He looked at Theo. He couldn't speak. He was choking. He thinks. He doesn't know.
His wand clattered away as he fell.
The bathroom tilted.
He could only think to do one thing. Call her.
Mia.
Hermione was halfway down the corridor when something ripped through the bond. It slammed into her so hard that the world seemed to tilt beneath her feet.
Pure, blinding, unbearable pain.
Mia.
The voice brushed against her mind, but it didn't sound like Draco.
Or perhaps it did.
Perhaps it was simply so weak, so distant, so filled with suffering that she barely recognised it.
The connection between them convulsed as agony followed.
Hermione stumbled violently, her shoulder crashing into the stone wall. The impact barely registered. One hand flew to her chest as though she could somehow physically hold herself together.
Draco?
The response never came. Instead, the bond flooded her with fragments. Like that time he was being tortured, and she could practically see Bellatrix as she hurt him.
Something was definitely wrong. She could see blood, so much blood, and Theo screaming.
She ran.
Around the corner, Harry and Ron came stumbling out of the lavatory, both pale, both breathing hard.
The sound tore through her mind with such force that it felt like someone had reached inside her chest and ripped her heart free.
Draco!
Nothing.
No answer.
Only pain.
Every instinct she possessed screamed at her to run, so she did.
As soon as she stepped into the hall, she saw students running in every direction and water from the bathroom coming out from under the table. She made her way inside after telling a random student to get Professor Snape.
Hermione entered the bathroom, and the first thing she saw was Harry's bloodless face with his glasses askew as he rushed back inside once he saw her come in.
Ron, who was standing next to him, looked sick.
“What happened?” she demanded.
Finally realizing that he had utterly fucked up, Harry opened his mouth. “Hermione, I don’t—I don’t know. We were duelling and—”
“What?! What do you mean? I told him you were coming to keep things calm—”
Harry flinched at her insinuation.
“Why were you duelling?” Her voice was deadly quiet. “Where is Draco? Why is everything so dark?”
Ron stared at her like she had gone mad. “Why do you care where Malfoy is?”
Before she could even scream at Ronald, or better yet, slap him over the head, the bond yanked.
Hard.
Hermione nearly cried out as Draco’s consciousness flickered against hers, weak and terrified.
She shoved past them, used a countercharm to eliminate the bloody darkness that overwhelmed the bathroom.
Why the bloody idiots hadn't thought to do that before was beyond her.
And the world stopped. As soon as the spell cleared, she saw him. Draco lay on the tiles in a spreading pool of blood.
His face was grey-white, lips parted, body convulsing weakly as fresh cuts tore themselves open across his skin.
Theo was on his knees beside him, hands pressed uselessly against one of the wounds, sobbing.
“No, no, no, no—Draco, stay with me, you bastard, stay with me—”
Hermione dropped beside Draco so hard that pain shot through her knees.
Dray.
His eyes fluttered.
Hi...love.
She cupped his face, tears already blurring her vision.
“What hurts? Tell me what hurts. Tell me what to do.”
Everything.
A sob tore out of her.
She raised her wand with a shaking hand. “Episkey.”
The nearest slash glowed faintly.
Then split open again.
“No.”
She tried again.
“Episkey.”
More blood.
"Episkey. Episkey. Episkey. EPISKEY!"
Theo looked up, wild-eyed. “It’s not working, Worm, it's not working!”
“Get help,” Hermione whispered. “Get somebody. I told them to get Snape. Go now!”
Theo scrambled up, slipping in Draco’s blood before he caught himself and ran.
Hermione pressed both hands to Draco’s chest.
Blood coated her palms immediately.
So much blood.
Everywhere she looked, there was crimson staining pale skin, soaking through his shirt, spreading across the bathroom floor in horrifying pools. The cuts carved into his body seemed endless, appearing faster than she could comprehend them. Each second felt like watching him slip further away.
"No. No, no, no, no—"
Her voice broke.
This couldn't be happening.
Not Draco.
Not after everything.
The bracelets around her wrist suddenly burned. The sensation cut through the panic just enough for a memory to surface. She remembered their ritual. The magic they had shared. The magic that connected them.
A desperate hope flared inside her chest.
Their magic was linked. It had to mean something.
It had to.
She could already feel it through the bond.
Feel him slipping.
Feel the terrible weakness flooding his body.
Feel his magic flickering like a candle trapped in a storm.
The realisation hit her with devastating force.
Draco was dying.
For once in her life, she simply acted. Hermione grabbed his hand and, using the bond, transferred some of her magic to him, using the old Black Family Magic in their bracelets to heal him, keep him alive somehow, until help came.
Stay with me.
Mia—
No. You do not get to leave me. It's you and me remember.
You...and...me.
She felt his body shudder beneath her hands. His Occlumency walls were collapsing under the sheer amount of pain flooding through him. Fragments of terror, agony, confusion, and exhaustion leaked through the cracks.
Magic continued to pour out of her.
Her vision spotted black. But the bleeding slowed in his face and neck. The slashes on his chest and arms, though still gaping, were ugly and raw, but the blood no longer surged as violently, though it still leaked. Draco’s breathing hitched, shallow but present.
Hermione bent over him, forehead nearly touching his.
“That’s it,” she whispered. “That’s it, love. Stay. Stay with me.”
Footsteps echoed somewhere behind her.
The sounds barely registered.
She was vaguely aware of movement. She could tell by their breathing and heavy steps that it was Harry and Ron.
But Hermione couldn't focus on either of them.
Couldn't focus on anything except the boy beneath her hands.
The boy she loved.
And through the bond, faint as the last flicker of a dying star, she thought she felt him reach back.
At long last, the door to the bathroom slammed open, and Severus Snape swept into it like a storm, black robes snapping behind him. His eyes landed on Draco, then Hermione, then the blood, and something like horror flashed across his face before it vanished behind iron control.
“Move.”
Hermione shook her head. “No.”
“Miss Granger, move.”
“No!”
Draco’s fingers twitched against hers.
It's ok.
Her breath broke.
No, I won't leave you.
Please Mia....He can...help.
Snape's eyes narrowed slightly, as though he could sense far more than anyone had actually said.
"Miss Granger, you have to leave before anyone else sees you. I need you to let me heal him."
Theo lingered in the doorway, face streaked with tears, one hand pressed against the angry burn on his shoulder where a stray curse had grazed him during the fight.
Ignoring everyone else, Snape dropped to his knees beside Draco and, as gently as he could, pushed Hermione away.
For the first time since arriving, something that looked dangerously close to fear flickered across his face.
Then it vanished.
His wand moved immediately.
"Vulnera Sanentur..."
The unfamiliar incantation echoed through the ruined bathroom. The wounds on Draco's body finally started closing.
“Vulnera Sanentur…”
Hermione let out a broken sob. The deep gashes crossing Draco's chest began knitting together, torn flesh pulling itself back into place inch by inch.
Harry took a hesitant step forward. "Professor, I—"
"You will be silent."
Harry immediately stopped.
The apology died before it could leave his mouth.
Because there had been one.
Hermione knew there had.
She could see it written all over his face.
The horror.
The guilt.
The dawning realisation of what his obsession with Malfoy at the beginning of the year had finally cost. Even after knowing everything, even after spending the Holidays with Draco, getting to know him, becoming his friend, he still chose to ignore all that and act selfishly and impulsively.
For a moment, his eyes found hers, and whatever he saw there made him visibly flinch.
Good.
Because Hermione had never looked at Harry Potter with so much anger in her life.
She couldn't even think it.
Across the room, Ron looked completely lost.
His face was still pale from his own recent poisoning, freckles standing out starkly against bloodless skin. Fear and confusion warred openly in his expression as his gaze bounced between Draco, the blood, Harry's horrified face, and Snape's furious one.
"I—I didn't—"
His voice cracked.
"I didn't know—"
No one listened.
Snape's attention remained fixed on Draco.
"What spell?"
His black eyes snapped toward Harry.
"What spell was used?"
Harry stared.
"I don't know."
The answer sounded pathetic even to his own ears.
"You don't know."
"No."
Snape's voice became quieter. Which somehow made it infinitely more terrifying.
"You nearly killed another student, and you don't know what spell was used?"
"It was in the book."
The confession seemed to darken the entire room.
"What book?"
"The book Professor Slughorn gave us for potions," Ron blurted out before he could stop himself. "The spell was written in the margins."
"What spell?"
Neither boy answered.
Because neither of them knew which spell had hurt Draco or who had uttered what.
Harry had never used any of the spells in the book before.
Never even tested them.
He had simply pointed his wand and cast the first curse that came to mind.
Hermione's temper finally snapped.
"You absolute idiots—"
Theo's arm wrapped around her waist immediately. Just enough to stop her launching herself across the room.
"Hermione."
"They didn't even know what it did!"
Her voice broke.
"He could have died! He could still be fucking dying!"
Snape didn’t look at her. “Mr Nott, remove Miss Granger. Now.”
“No,” Hermione whispered.
Snape’s voice cut like a blade. “Whatever this is between you must remain hidden, or he will die from more than blood loss. Potter and Weasley, you will head directly to the Headmaster’s office. You will tell him precisely what happened here. And you will not utter one word about Miss Granger's presence.”
Neither moved.
"Do you understand me?"
"Yes, Professor," Harry said hoarsely.
Ron nodded.
Snape's gaze swept the room one final time.
"The corridor is already filling with students. No one will be able to track who entered or left if you move now."
Then, with all the force of a command honed over decades:
"Go."
Hermione looked down at Draco.
His eyes were barely open.
Go, Mia.
I love you.
A flicker. Weak but real.
Love...you.
Theo wrapped his good arm around Hermione and pulled.
She resisted for one terrible second.
Then Draco’s eyes fluttered shut, and Snape’s voice continued, steady and grim.
“Vulnera Sanentur…”
Theo dragged her out before she broke completely.