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She’s limp in his arms, and Draco cradles her close to his body. He’s careful as he walks through the trees, making sure none of the branches touch her. He can’t stand the thought of her being in any sort of pain, not even a scratch from a branch.
The stone circle is on the very edge of the manor’s ground. His ancestors used it for rituals, but by the time his grandparents were married, they had stopped observing the old ways. He can feel the magic as soon as he passes the first stones, and for the first time since he slipped the sleeping draught into Hermione’s tea, he feels more giddy than guilty. The spell would work, Draco could feel it.
He lays her down on the lush grass in the middle of the stone circle. The moon is high enough in the sky, he doesn’t need his wand to see. She looks so beautiful in her sleep. But to him, she always does. Her features are relaxed, and he allows himself one innocent touch. Draco pushes the curls away from her face. She looks like an angel, his angel. So trusting and loving.
It wasn’t hard to get her to come to the manor; they were friends, after all. Well, coworkers, but friendly coworkers. He hadn’t lied, not completely. There really was a book he wanted her to look at. He found it by accident, tucked away behind older tomes in the library. “Soulmates: Rituals of the Soul.” The title had piqued his interest. When he was a boy, he’d spent hours reading about soulmates. A bond so powerful it overrode any other bonds—even marriage ones. Even as a child, he was a romantic at heart. He imagined his soulmate, a witch just perfect for him. One he could love and cherish, and that would love him back just as fiercely. But he grew up and gave up on the idea. Soulmates were exceedingly rare after all.
He starts unbuttoning his shirt, folding it neatly into a pile. His trousers follow. It’s almost midnight. The book highlighted how important it was to complete the ritual at exactly midnight. It’s in his bag, but Draco doesn’t need it. He planned meticulously. He’s a careful man, and when it comes to his love, he leaves nothing to chance. He knows the ritual is technically dark blood magic, but can it really be dark when it results in a soulmate?
Out of the bag, he pulls the silver knife, and when the moon catches on it, he takes a deep breath. This is it. He can already see their future, reading together by candlelight. Kissing her good morning. Their future children. Draco smiles as he slices his palm.
The first rune goes on his left wrist. He draws it carefully. In the moonlight, the blood looks almost black against his skin. He’s tempted to look at her, but she’ll distract him. He’s often distracted around her. It’s not her fault; she’s just too captivating.
The second is high on his chest, right above his heart. It thumps a little faster. He can’t wait to tell her how much he loves her. She’ll be a bit upset about the drugged tea, he knows that, but she’ll forgive him. He prepared a room for her in the manor, right next to his. He doesn’t want to assume she’ll want to share his quite yet, but soon, he hopes. He blushes at the thought.
The next rune is above his navel, and he sucks in a breath as he finishes the last stroke with his bloody finger. There’s only one step left, but he has to prepare Hermione first.
He’s careful when he picks up her wrist. She’s so small, almost like a little bird. His bird, his dove. He’s gentle when he traces the pattern on her skin.
He uses his wand to remove her clothes, because he’s a gentleman and it wouldn’t do to be pawing at her robes like some animal. Maybe that’s what her husband, the weasel, does, but Draco was raised better. Soon, she won’t have to worry about him anymore. He keeps his eyes on her face as he traces the rune above her heart. He only allows himself a single glance to make sure it’s drawn perfectly. He doesn’t let his eyes linger on her breasts.
“I apologise,” he murmurs as his hand slides down to her stomach because he can’t avoid touching her for this part. She’s soft and a bit jiggly under his fingers, but he doesn’t let himself enjoy the feel of her skin too much. It wouldn’t be appropriate. But Salazar, he loves her. Her mind, her body, she’s perfect, from head to toes. He finds her navel quickly and draws the last rune right above it.
The Tempus on his wand lets him know he has two minutes before midnight. He allows himself one press of his lips to her forehead. She smells like lilacs. Soon he’ll get to kiss her every day. His witch. His soulmate.
With one minute left, he carefully takes hold of her calves and gently parts her legs. His eyes stay firmly on her closed eyes. She’s resplendent even unconscious. He squeezes his right hand, making sure to coat his palm in blood. It’s warm and slippery against his cock. He doesn’t touch himself for pleasure; he’s not a pervert. Just two quick strokes to smear the blood over his length. It’s awkward when he lines himself up because he refuses to touch her naked body.
He finds a comfortable position, his knees digging into the earth. The grass is long enough, and Draco grabs two fistfuls of it on each side of her hips for leverage. When his wand buzzes, indicating midnight, he doesn’t hesitate. The magic swirls, silver and blue, all around them the moment he sheaths himself inside her welcoming body.
It’s like nothing he’s ever witnessed. Beauty in its purest form. Draco watches with tears in his eyes as the bond forms, a strong, shining silver line from his heart to hers. It weaves itself with the other two threads connecting their wrists and stomachs. His hips stutter. It’s so pure, so strong. Like the book promised, unbreakable. He can feel her magic all over him, or maybe it’s her love. It’s warm when it encircles him. His soulmate, his witch, his Hermione. It’s too much, it’s perfect. His whole body shudders.
He’s breathless when her eyes flutter open. Draco smiles. “Hello, my love.”