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Victim of the Fall	By : PrettyDesdemona Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 32726 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any of its characters. I do not make any money off this story. Only love!

Chapter List
- 9
- 10
- 11
CHAPTER 10

THIS BOUQUET

“My gaze lays like a stain on the carpeted floor.”

Hermione drifted through the rest of her week in a daze. She felt as if she was under a spell. Any time she saw any other member of her Defence Against the Dark Arts class in the corridors, she felt a compulsion to acknowledge them and it seemed as though the others felt the same. She’d even received a stiff nod from Zabini as they passed each other in the great hall two days after the lesson, something that he had never once done in all the time they had been going to Hogwarts together. Even the three Slytherins seemed to be spending more time together; Hermione noticed them eating together in the great hall and sitting together in most of the classes they shared aside from Defence Against the Dark Arts. Once or twice, she had caught sight of Malfoy talking with Eli between classes and Ginny had told Hermione one afternoon that she’d managed to have a civil conversation with Isobel Holub in the girls bathrooms. Things were changing.

Hermione ate lunch with Luna, Padma, Ginny, Susan and Juliet everyday that week. Her and Ginny seemed to have come to some kind of silent agreement. Though Hermione had told the younger woman that they would talk, Ginny seemed perfectly content that they hadn’t. Their relationship had gone back to the semi close friendship they had shared before the war. Just so long as neither of them brought up Harry or Ron. Hermione didn’t know, and didn’t want to ask what, what was happening between her best friend and Ginny. She was shocked to discover that Ginny was residing at Hogwarts and not at the Burrow but she seemed, on the outside, like she was fine with it. Hermione was not so sure.

Hermione learnt from her little group of Gryffindor friends that, for all the lower years, Teodora was teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts the same way as all her predecessors. Only the seventh year class seemed to have been introduced to the tovarasi concept.

She began to think that perhaps Teodora was McGonagall’s secret weapon. The Headmistress had promised at the beginning of the year that she would unite the houses and it was happening. It was done so subtly that Hermione almost didn’t see it. But she noticed that, whether intentional or not, the students in her class happened to all be students of influence in their respective houses which led their younger counterparts to follow in their example.

In Slytherin, Isobel appeared to be Pansy Parkinson’s replacement. She was popular and many of the younger girls flocked around her. She also had the sympathies of those whose parents were death eaters, dead or in Azkaban. Zabini was powerful, well bred and good looking, looked up to by the younger boys in his house and Malfoy seemed to be regarded with a mixture of fear and awe. He still swaggered about like he owned the school but his whining, attention seeking sensibilities seemed to have waned a little, earning the respect of the younger students.

In Ravenclaw, Padma had established herself as somewhat of a mother duck during the war when she played Healer and that reputation had followed her into the new year. Luna was no longer ridiculed or made fun of, but treated like a wise old soothsayer.

In Hufflepuff, Susan had been a prefect already for three years, putting her in a position of authority over the rest of the students. She was by no means jovial, she was a quiet, serious young woman, but the younger Hufflepuffs took her word as law. And Eli, aside from being kind and easy going, was this year’s quidditch captain of the Hufflepuff team.

In Gryffindor, Ginny had always been popular and pretty, but now she had Molly’s stern authority behind her as well as her relationship with the Boy Who Lived, making her somewhat of a figurehead in her house. Juliet was a calm voice of reason in many conflicts and Hermione was, well, Hermione. The Hermione Granger. She wasn’t popular or authoritative, she was quite simply infamous, almost in the same way that Malfoy was.

The younger students watched her tovarasi conversing in the corridors and she could see they noticed the aura of understanding that hung between them. It was happening slowly, almost imperceptibly, but by the end of the week, Hermione saw more Slytherins conversing with Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs in the corridors than usual. They still treated the Gryffindors with barely concealed contempt, but even that was becoming less harsh and more jovial.

The seventh year Defence Against the Dark Arts classes that took place over the course of that week, all took on the same theme as the first. Teodora seemed to have no other expectations of them other than to have them all talk to each other and share their experiences. She reprimanded them when they called each other by their last names and encouraged them to understand the complexities of each other’s positions in the war. She didn’t step in when they fought or swore at each other, as long as she felt they were making progress. In Tuesday’s lesson, Hermione was relieved to find that Teodora did not expect them to continue the heavy conversation of the day before. Instead, she had asked them to entrust one of their tovaras with a treasured possession and Hermione had handed over her old and battered copy of The Tales of Beedle the Bard to Luna and had received a heavy silver chain with a tiny snake fang hanging from it from Blaise. They were to carry the object with them for a whole week so Hermione wore the chain around her neck morning and night. They had all laughed when Malfoy handed over a heavy and expensive looking black cloak to Eli who had to wear it around for the rest of the week. She saw him frequently in the corridors, sporting the pureblood finery and couldn’t help but smile.

Wednesday saw them spending the first half of the lesson writing short but descriptive essays on their favourite things. Teodora had then asked them to give their writing to another member of the class to read aloud. Hermione found it surreal listening to Isobel read out her description of her love for her record player and how it made her flat feel and look different. Malfoy read out Luna’s short narrative on Crumple Horned Snorkacks much to the glee of the rest of the tovarasi. To hear something so whimsical and fantastical coming from Malfoy’s mouth was beyond hilarious and Hermione laughed along with the rest of the class.

Hermione went to Teodora’s office each night after dinner to take her dose of the Rusine potion but Teodora did not seem to feel the need to continue their turbulent conversation of the first night. Hermione felt no resentment about this, fearing that her teacher would ask her questions about the difficulties she was having in her class.

Most of the classes had been light hearted, trust building exercises but Teodora had occasionally asked them to revisit their trauma and in these lessons, Hermione held back, choosing instead to remain silent and impassive. She clung to her resentments like lifelines and the Slytherins felt the brunt of those feelings. She could not bring herself to connect with Zabini at all, she outright disliked Isobel and she refused to call Malfoy by his first name.

And so it was that Hermione went to Teodora’s office on the last night of her first week of term, thinking it would be the same as every other night and she’d be able to take her potion and go home quickly. She had a four foot Transfiguration essay to finish, due on Monday.

She knocked on the door and let it swing open. Teodora looked up from an paper she was reading and smiled.

“Hermione! Come. Sit.”

She gestured to the pillow opposite her. Hermione felt immediately nervous. Teodora had not asked her to sit down with her since the night they’d met.

The older woman handed Hermione her goblet of potion, which Hermione downed in one gulp.

“So, you have been well?” asked Teodora politely.

Hermione nodded and put the goblet down on the table. Teodora looked at her expectantly and Hermione almost wanted to roll her eyes. Her teacher exercised this technique in class all the time. She would sit quietly and watch until the person she had targeted continued to talk just to break the silence. Hermione was not as easily manipulated.

She stared back at her teacher silently, defiantly, until Teodora laughed.

“You are stubborn like me Hermione. Let’s stop this now. I want to talk to you about our lessons.”

Hermione smiled wryly. “I thought as much.”

“I am not surprised. You are smart woman, as I have said before. So I am confused. Why are you finding this so hard?”

“I do not wish to associate with death eaters.” said Hermione through clenched teeth. Once upon a time she would have felt embarrassed at her own impertinence, but Teodora regularly reminded them to be open and honest with her and not pander to her just because she was a teacher. So Hermione spoke to her like a friend.

“Ah. So this is about Draco. But he is your tovaras.”

Hermione sneered, “Malfoy is no comrade of mine.”

“You do not trust him?”

Hermione laughed sarcastically. “Certainly not.”

“Why?”

“He has never given me any reason to.”

“But he is here, is he not? He is not in Azkaban with his parents, nor is he running like death eaters who are not caught.”

“So? Malfoy likes his comfort. Being on the run or in Azkaban wouldn’t suit him.”

“You seem to think you know him well.”

Hermione stared at Teodora. Of course she knew him well, she’d only been going to school with him for seven years. What was her teacher getting at?

“Have you ever spoken with him?” asked Teodora.

Hermione laughed again, “Of course I have! I’ve known him for -”

“Seven years, yes. But I mean have you shared conversation as well as insults?”

Hermione clenched her teeth, knowing that to tell Teodora the truth would prove the older woman’s point. “No. Never.”

“Hmm. Well I have spoken with him. Many times. Do you take me as a stupid woman, Hermione?”

“No! Of course not!”

Hermione thought Teodora was anything but stupid.

“Well. Then perhaps you might trust me. And I trust him. You must not see it so black and white. I may not trust that he has renounced your Dark Lord’s ideals entirely, but I trust that he is trying to change his mind. I think Draco has suffered much and his loyalties are changing little by little. You, I think, are not making it easy for him.” Teodora looked at Hermione sternly. “Let us say, for now, that he wants to be different. Should you not accept that? Let him try. And after, you may choose not to like him because he can be childlike, I know this, or because he has the arrogance of his money. You may choose not to like him as a person. But do not presume to judge him on his past. Hate him for the right reasons, Hermione. This is all I ask.”

Hermione nodded, fully aware that she had lost this round. She promised her teacher she would think about what she’d said and half meant it. Teodora gave her two vials of the Rusine potion to take over the weekend before she left.

“You are both more the same than you might think. But I, at least, thought you more mature than him.” said Teodora as Hermione made to walk out of her office.

Hermione turned to look at her teach who raised her eyebrows challengingly. “What do you mean?” she asked.

“I mean, the you and Draco are the same in class. You both are cold and do not talk. You both rebel against the bonds of the tovarasi. I would have thought you would be the better person.”

Teodora smiled and Hermione left with her mind reeling.

That night, Hermione mulled over Teodora’s words as she cooked dinner and she hated the idea that her teacher may actually be right. Hermione wasn’t being the better person in this scenario, she was being exactly the same. She was being just as immature and sulky as Draco Malfoy. The thought made her want to vomit.

Besides, even if Malfoy wasn’t changing, what was the point in being horrible to him every chance she got? What would it get her, apart from the opportunity to jump up and down screaming “I knew it” when he finally showed his true colours? And how was she supposed to set an example to the younger students if she couldn’t have a single civil conversation with him? She accepted the fact that not every Slytherin was evil, just him, so the younger generations shouldn’t have to suffer for her grudge. The Gryffindors and Slytherins in the years below her were still butting somewhat against the new standards of house unity at Hogwarts, but if she was to be seen talking with Malfoy, they may change their attitude a little.

She resolved to be better. She could still hate him, could still think him an evil, conniving fuckwit in her head, but she would try and talk to him. She would try and be better in class. She knew Teodora wanted her to open up and let go of her resentments but Hermione didn’t think she was quite ready for that yet. So she’d fake it til she made it.

Before she went to bed, she listened to her records and did her homework. Once she was done, she decided that, seeing as it had been over a week, she would write to George. He hadn’t broken down her door yet but she didn’t quite trust him not to do it.

Dear George,

I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to write. Please don’t knock down my door! I’m ok. I wasn’t for a little while but now, being back at Hogwarts has offered me some distraction and I’m finally starting to feel better.

I’m really, really sorry for what happened last time we saw each other. I’m sorry for using you. I don’t want our friendship to be affected by it and I hope you don’t hate me.

I’d like to have dinner again soon so we can talk but I’ve got a ridiculous amount of homework to do and have to start work at the shop soon so I’m not sure when I’ll be able to see you. Look out for my owl and I’ll let you know, ok?

Miss you,

Hermione.

She knew as she sealed the letter and gave it to Sev who shot out her open balcony door and into the night, that she wasn’t being entirely honest when she told George she was too busy to see him. But she still wasn’t feeling quite back to normal and didn’t want a repeat of their last meeting. She knew that if she was going to see George again, she’d have to wait until she was feeling a little more stable.

He deserved that.

The next morning, Hermione ate a breakfast, that consisted of a croissant and a mug of overly sweet coffee, on her balcony. Wrapped in her throw rug and a hastily uttered warming charm to ward against the cold, she proof read the assignments she had completed the night before, occasionally making corrections here and there. Autumn was properly falling over Diagon Alley now and though the sun shone beautifully out of a clear blue sky, it was beginning to get deathly cold.

The street below her bustled with wizards and witches doing their weekend shopping and Hermione was comforted by the sounds that drifted up to her from the street. She liked being above it all, a part of it, but not.

Suddenly, her concentration was broken by a voice calling out to her from below.

“Granger? Is that you?”

Hermione looked over her shoulder through the bars to see Blaise Zabini looking up at her. She stood, leaned over the railing and waved awkwardly, surprised that he had called out to her at all. He appeared equally shocked.

“Do you… want a croissant?” she asked, more because she couldn’t think of a single other thing to say.

He shrugged and, to her surprise, nodded. Hermione almost laughed. She hadn’t imagined in a million years that he would actually say yes.

“Oh! Um… Ok. Wait there.” She walked back into her flat and out her door, hoping that she did actually have more croissants in her pantry. Moments later she met him in the street and, wordlessly, led him back up to her flat. He stood awkwardly in the archway that divided her kitchen from her living room while she found him a plate and established that there were indeed more croissants to be had.

“Coffee?” she asked, her voice unnaturally high.

“Please. Black. No sugar.” he replied woodenly.

She fixed him a cup and handed it and the croissant to him.

“Would you like to sit on the balcony?” Hermione asked awkwardly.

He nodded and followed her outside. She lay the blanket she had wrapped around herself down on the tiled floor of the balcony.

He sat down awkwardly. She could tell he was by no means accustomed to sitting on the floor and she felt suddenly self conscious, she was still in her oversized quidditch jersey and tights after all. He began to nibble on the corner of the croissant as she joined him, leaning against the wall so she wouldn’t have to look in his direction. They sat in silence for a moment.

“So this is weird.” said Hermione.

Zabini laughed and nodded, “Most certainly.”

“Why did you even call out to me?” she asked, lightly, deciding that the situation might be easier if she were blunt.

“I honestly don’t know. I wasn’t going to but it seemed wrong not to. Ever since that damn Defence class, it’s been like that.” he replied, sipping his coffee and making an appreciative noise.

“I’m glad it’s not just me then. She’s probably put a compulsion on us.”

Zabini nodded seriously, then leant towards Hermione. “I spent twenty minutes standing in a corridor talking to Eli, a Hufflepuff, about quidditch the other day. I certainly think there is something more ominous afoot here. I mean, a Hufflepuff.” He rolled his eyes.

Hermione laughed, “I think eating breakfast with a Gryffindor is probably considered far worse.”

“What will people think?” Zabini took on a look of mock panic and Hermione giggled.

“So do you like her? Teodora?” she asked.

“Yes I think so.”

“You know she’s half blood.” said Hermione without thinking. This is exactly what she’d promised herself to avoid. She knew she was just trying to get a rise out of him.

He surprised her by saying, “So? I believe in breeding, not blood. Draco’s the one who cares about that nonsense. Or he used to anyway.”

Hermione raised her eyebrows. She couldn’t help herself. “So you think he was serious about all that stuff he said at the feast?”

Zabini thought for a moment, chewing on his croissant. “I think it was certainly played up a lot, but it was a public speech. It’s supposed to be motivational. In essence, Draco’s the same person as before, really.” Hermione felt a savage glee at this before he continued, “But his ideals and opinions have changed, most certainly. He’s very touchy about blood purity ideals now, even in private.”

“But what if it’s an act?”

“It might be I suppose. But why do it in the privacy of his own house? And has Draco ever been that great an actor? Remember in third year with that Hippogriff? Everyone could see he was milking it. No, it’s always been Lucius who was the actor. Draco was too spoilt.”

Hermione frowned in thought. Zabini had a point.

“I’ve an idea.” he said suddenly, “Let’s not talk about all that. I am, most mysteriously, having breakfast with you so let’s not turn it into a bloodbath shall we?”

Hermione laughed. “Good idea. We can always just bring it up in class on Monday anyway, huh? Speaking of which, how goes Susan’s charm bracelet?”

Zabini lifted the cuff of his cloak to reveal the gold bracelet on his wrist. “And you? You haven’t lost my chain have you?” he asked her drolly.

Hermione fished the chain from the depths of her quidditch jersey to show Zabini.

He smiled and nodded approvingly. “So you live here?”

Hermione nodded.

“I’d heard you were living with the Weasleys. Aren’t you… with Potter’s lackey? Rupert or whatever his name was?”

“I was but I left. Ron and I broke up.” Hermione swiftly changed the subject. “Are you living at Hogwarts?”

Zabini shook his head. “No. My mother bought me an apartment here in Diagon Alley.”

Hermione choked a little on her coffee. “Ah, wow! That’s… Nice of her. Where is it?”

“A little further down from Gringotts.”

“Oh, I’ve never been down there. It’s only residential isn’t it?”

He nodded and sipped his coffee again and Hermione was struck with a thought.

“Hey Zabini, you wouldn’t happen to know anything about Dividing Lines would you?”

He looked at her sharply. “Why?”

She had a strange feeling that if she told him her flat fell on one, he might leave, very quickly.

“Oh, just a term I heard. I don’t know anything about it and I figured seeing as you’re pureblood, you might have heard of them.” she said lightly.

He gave her a long, searching look. “I don’t know much. Just that it’s considered dark magic. But I wouldn’t go asking just anyone if I were you, Granger. It might give them the wrong idea.”

Hermione threw her hands in the air in frustration. “But I don’t understand! Why is everyone so freaked out them?” she huffed.

Zabini shifted uncomfortably. “Well… from what I’ve heard they have a lot to do with blood and sex rites. It’s old magic.”

Hermione blushed. “Oh. Right, well yes that would do it.”

Zabini finished off his croissant and sipped his coffee, seeming troubled. He kept glancing over at Hermione with a mix of suspicion and respect.

Hermione knew that modern wizards were greatly distrustful of magic that involved sex or blood rites. There weren’t any potions around anymore that required human blood. Hermione could only recall one and that was the potion that had been used to resurrect Voldemort. And so they had, most certainly, been put in the category of dark magic but Hermione couldn’t particularly understand why, unless the blood or sex was taken by force. But if you weren’t taking it be force, what was the problem? Perhaps the wizarding world had been infected by prudishness the same way the muggle world had.

Zabini cleared his throat awkwardly. “You know, if you really want to know about that sort of thing, you should ask Draco. The library at the manor is huge and full of old tomes on dark magic. And I know for a fact that he’s read every single book in it. He’d tell you.”

Hermione couldn’t help herself, she laughed cynically. “Yeah I’ll keep that in mind next time we’re braiding each other’s hair and gabbing about the Weird Sisters.”

Both her and Zabini seemed to realise at the same time how ridiculous this image was and snickered.

“Oh, I’ve got to see that! Please invite me along next time the two of you have a play date!” he said, slapping his knee.

“Sure, I’ll do that!” Hermione giggled.

They fell into a companionable silence and stared out into the street, watching the passersby. Hermione thought that perhaps Zabini wasn’t so bad once he got comfortable. The person she’d seen in the corridors was always staring down his nose at other people, but he didn’t seem so caught up in that right then. He was still quite stiff and spoke with an upper-class accent that she found just a little too aristocratic, but once she got past that, his sarcastic sense of humour fit right in with her own. She liked him.

Hermione’s eyes, swept over the street as she thought. Perhaps she could actually be friends with the Slytherin? He seemed to be not entirely repulsed by the idea and it would help with her Defence Against the Dark Arts classes if Teodora could see her sharing friendly conversation with one of the Slytherins.

Her eyes slid over something that seemed vaguely familiar a little down the road on Zabini’s side. It seemed to register hazily in the back of her mind and she frowned, trying to find it again.

Yes. There it was. Red hair, blue eyes…

Hermione yelped and grabbed Zabini by the arm, dragging him bodily through her balcony door and back into her flat.

“What the hell! Granger!”

“Oh fuck. Oh shit. Oh no.” She was holding him back and peeking out into the street from her crouched position behind a curtain. “I think he saw me. Oh fuck. I think he saw you.”

“Granger! What are you talking about!”

She turned to see him sprawled on her rug looking alarmed.

“I’m in my fucking pyjamas, Zabini! Eating breakfast! With you!!” she shrieked. “He’s going to think that you and I are… That we’re… Oh fucking fuck it.”

“For the love of all that is holy, what are you talking about?! Who!?”

“Ron!”

“Weasley?”

“YES!”

Zabini began to laugh. Hermione could have hit him.

“What the fuck is so funny!”

He clutched at his sides and fell back on the rug.

“You are what is so funny!” he said between gasps, “Why do you care what he thinks?”

“Because… Because… Just because, ok!”

“Granger. Stop. Look at me.” Hermione turned to him, still crouched behind the curtain. “Think about this. The guy broke up with you right?” she nodded, “And now he’s just seen you with, might I say, an extremely attractive wizard whom he hates. It’s the perfect revenge.”

Hermione laughed. “Oh, that’s so fucking Slytherin.”

“And that’s precisely what makes it brilliant.”

“Aren’t you concerned that people will think we’re…” she lowered her voice to a whisper, “Sleeping together?”

“Heavens yes, but there’s nothing I can do about it now, is there? And that doesn’t stop it being beneficial to you.”

“That is… ridiculously insulting.” said Hermione with a grin.

Zabini shrugged and stood, dusting off his robes imperiously.

Hermione glanced back out into the street again. “You know what? You’re right. Fuck it. I don’t care. Let him think whatever he likes.” She stood up. “Would you like some more coffee?”

Zabini grinned. “Sure, why not? May as well make it look convincing.”

That evening, Hermione felt light and happy that she’d made a new friend. The two of them had resolutely steered away from the subject of the war and instead talked about their classes and bitched healthily about their classmates. Zabini had revealed, to Hermione’s glee, that their fellow tovarasi, Isobel, had developed a habit of draping herself all over either himself, or Malfoy, and consequentially, they both disliked her more than Hermione did but still put up with her for reasons he could not explain.

After spending two hours at her flat, sharing coffee and talking, Zabini had left. They had not made plans to see each other again, both seeming to understand that it was a pleasant, random morning and nothing more.

At around nine o’clock, Hermione made herself a dinner of rice and curry and sat down with her potions textbook to read a chapter on love potions. She was three pages in before she realised that her heart was beating rapidly and she felt darkness beginning to creep into her vision again. She pushed through the chapter, trying to stay resolutely optimistic, trying to ignore her thudding heart and the sadness that was bleeding through her body, to no avail. So she read the entire book. When it was almost midnight she scrubbed her bathroom top to bottom, the muggle way, hoping to make herself too tired to feel the depression she was falling into.

By two am, she was shaking on her couch, staring down at her Arithmancy textbook, not taking in a single word she read. Her tongue convulsed in her mouth and her limbs were beginning to ache in a way that felt strangely familiar.

Her head was feeding the fire of her sadness, throwing fuel into the blaze. Ron knew where she lived now but he hadn’t written to her. He didn’t visit her. He didn’t care. He didn’t love her. How could anyone love her? She was messy and cold and unyielding. She was ugly and uninteresting. She was worthless.

A shiver ran down her spine and her skin tingled unpleasantly. Hermione discarded the book. Her head pounded and her body was burning with tension. She tried relaxing her muscles but they twitched uncontrollably as the aching got worse. She was pouring sweat. Why was it so hot?

She flung open her balcony door and stood in the gale of icy winded that whirled into her flat but it made no difference. Her skin burned.

She lurched back to her couch and collapsed into it, breathing shallowly. She clenched her fists and curled up into a ball, trembling and letting out little keening sobs as the wind scattered her essays around her apartment.

Her stomach cramped and saliva flooded her mouth. She leaned over the side of her couch and vomited as new waves of tremors hit her body.

Hermione felt her soul burn with a far hotter fire than the one that burned her body, like it was splintering, tearing itself apart. She grabbed a pillow, pressed her face into it and screamed.

distinctlyME - I'm so glad you were moved by it. It was hard for me to write. I really wanted all of them to have experienced the consequences of war in very specifically individual ways. Don't worry, I won't be rushing it. This story is flowing really easily for me and I know that on the road to recovery it often happens that one takes one step forward and two steps back. So we may still be here in 60 chapters (heaven forbid) if it flows that way. Thanks for the love!

Kain - It's funny you should mention falling into cliches. I read this story out to my mum as I'm writing it and she'll often stop me, mid sentence to bark, "Too cliched! Change it!" haha. So I think some of the thanks goes to her for that! About Harry and Ron... Well, I don't know if their ready yet. And Neville isn't in the class because I kind of saw him shying away from Defense after the war, so he dropped it.

Thanks so much for your review! (btw, I am also constantly being reprimanded for being too black and white, which is probably why Hermione is haha)

dh_reader - I'm glad someone brought up the Dividing Lines! What do we think now after the information Blaise has shared? Do we think Hermione should just leave well enough alone? (and don't worry, contradictory is great!)

I know, I felt AWFUL when I wrote Hermione in her reunion with Malfoy. She was ridiculously cruel, but you're right, it's understandable I suppose. I get the feeling she'd been waiting to say those things to him since she heard his speech.

carly - That's beautiful. I'm so touched to know you really felt their pain. Thank you.

The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from Ani Difranco's song This Bouquet. Her music has served as a huge inspiration for this piece. I own nothing. Thanks Ani!
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Victim of the Fall