Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

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
- 15
- 16
- 17
CHAPTER 16

FIRE DOOR

“You know, taken out of context I must seem so strange.”

The following months passed, to Hermione’s joy, relatively drama free though extremely busy. September gave way to October, then November. The cold descended on Diagon Alley and snow coated the Hogwarts grounds with a soft white fuzz. Many things had slowly begun to change for Hermione. She’d settled into her life. Something she hadn’t felt she’d done in a very long time.

There were no more visits from Harry and though she tried to write to him, imploring him to realise that she loved him and would always be there for him, he never wrote back. Hermione dealt with this by deciding that next time Harry came to see her, no matter what time of night, and no matter how odd he seemed, she would be there for him. Her heart ached at night to have Harry and Ron at her side again. Her reality felt so anti climactic. After over seven years, they were separate from her, each dealing with their own demons, living their own lives and she was quite simply not a part of it anymore. It wasn’t right. She almost hated that her life was going well, because it felt as if it shouldn’t be without them around. Her encounter with Harry had left her shaken for many weeks, and she wished she’d been more receptive to him. But what was done, was done.

She tossed and turned over whether or not to tell Ginny about Harry coming to see her. She felt like maybe, because Hermione and Ginny were the most important women in Harry’s life, they should have a serious discussion about his situation. There was something wrong with him. He needed help. However, the younger girl’s subtle but very real progress held Hermione’s tongue. She could not bring herself to do that to her. Ginny refrained from mentioning Ron around Hermione for the same reasons. In the end, there was nothing either girl could do for the men they loved except wait patiently for them to come back, if they ever did.

Hermione could tell that Ginny was still strained despite her progress. She was quieter, more serious and Hermione knew it wasn’t all because of the war and her grief. There was something fresher about her sadness, something that Hermione could identify with. They were both, in their own minds, suffering in silence. Somehow, Hermione didn’t think this was helping. Only once had she braved her own fears around the subject and attempted to talk to Ginny about Harry, had asked her if she had seen or heard anything of him. Ginny had told her that they corresponded regularly in writing but she seemed disinclined to say anything further. There was something ominous about this. Hermione felt spooked by the juxtaposition between Harry’s attitude towards Ginny when he had visited Hermione, and the knowledge that he was still writing to her. Ginny made it sound like they were fine.

Aside from that one time, Hermione stayed far away from the subject. Talking about Harry meant talking about Ron, really. And she didn’t want to go there.

Hermione was surprised to discover that despite these underlying worries, her schooling was going better than she expected. She continued to maintain her position at the top of all her classes. But no class went better for her than Defence Against the Dark Arts. Their teacher proved time and again her great wisdom when dealing with her students and Hermione had begun to think that Teodora’s lecture in September was a carefully constructed plan. She’d quite literally guilted her students into behaving better. No one spoke out of turn, they made a recognisable effort to get along with each other and followed Teodora’s instructions enthusiastically. The group may not have, at that point, formed the sort of bond with each other that their teacher expected, but Teodora had at least gotten them to care for her and in doing so, made them despise the idea of upsetting her. It worked like a charm. Their classes continued along to group therapy line and Hermione felt she was making progress with her companions and they with each other.

The tovarasi had fallen into an easy familiarity. Even Isobel had grudgingly acknowledged that she would consider the other girls as friends. There was not a class or meal Hermione took where she was not surrounded by them, and she found she didn’t at all mind. She didn’t feel crowded or annoyed, only cocooned and her relationship with each member had progressed far beyond what she had originally expected.

She found herself far more tolerant of Luna, who was still prone to spouting some of the ridiculous concepts Hermione ever heard. But now, she found them endearing not irritating. Luna’s openness encouraged Hermione’s and so in the young Ravenclaw, she found someone she could speak freely with about her fears and desires, who would not judge her for them.

Her initial reluctance to get to know Blaise was almost completely wiped from her mind, the only black mark against his name being from what he’d said to Ginny. Hermione saw this as residual loyalty for her housemate and ignored it for the most part. He was good company, providing witty and intelligent conversation. Whatever was happening between him and Ginny was their own business.

Hermione watched in amusement and exasperation as Eli and Padma began to court each other, stumbling from one awkwardly muttered sentence to the next. Her view on this partnership was shared by the majority of the group aside from Padma and Eli themselves who steadfastly denied any claims to liking each other. Hermione laughed along with the rest of the tovarasi at their awkward pairing in public, but in private, Padma had taken to confiding only in Hermione as to her own feelings. Hermione found this refreshing. It was nice to feel trusted.

She grew closer to serious and quiet Susan, finding her excellent company when Hermione didn’t feel like talking. The Hufflepuff girl gave brilliant advice and unwavering support when it was needed and knew when to be silent when it wasn’t. Hermione liked that. Susan didn’t talk about the atrocities committed against her during the war but Hermione noticed that she smiled more now, surrounded by her friends. It was beautiful to watch such a bright, loving character unfold in front of her.

Juliet, who always knew exactly how to make Hermione laugh and who’s kind, sweetness made her heart glow at every opportunity, had become almost like family, like a sister. Hermione wanted the younger girl close, even if they shared little in common and spoke far less to each other than they did to the others. Hermione was comforted by her presence.

But none other was more important to Hermione than Isobel. In her, Hermione had found a close comrade, a best friend, who followed her almost blindly. Their friendship had skyrocketed after the conversation they had shared at the top of the astronomy tower, even though they had initially decided to be friends in name only, because they had shared a mutual loneliness. Isobel was loyal, something Hermione had never guessed a Slytherin could be. She was attentive and was always the first to notice when Hermione was down or anxious. Hermione felt guilty at how much the girl gave to her, wishing she could find something to give back. Isobel walked with her in the grounds when Hermione had panic attacks, to calm her down. Every Saturday night, Isobel would sleep at Hermione’s flat, they would share a bed and cook breakfast together in the morning. Never in Hermione’s life had she experienced a friendship so close, so familiar, so free of complication. They did not laugh together, they did not share secrets or swap stories. They rarely spoke properly. But they knew each other. There was a closeness between them that Hermione could not compare to anyone. Not even Harry and Ron. They were men and so there was always that barrier. Isobel was a woman who shared so much in common with Hermione that it made her head spin. Oh, the surface stuff was different. Isobel wasn’t studious or interested in intellectual pursuits like Hermione and Hermione wasn’t snobbish or buffeted about on the winds of fashion as Isobel was. But in essentials, they were the same. There was comfort in that.

Hermione quickly realised that her feelings for the girl had deepened past fondness, past care. Though she would never say it to Isobel, she loved her. Properly. She knew Isobel would be by her side for the rest of her life and further.

Hermione felt no confusion or angst around her relationship with Isobel, it was simple, rewarding and close. Unlike, unfortunately, her relationship with Malfoy.

Yes, even after two months, he was still Malfoy to her and she was still Granger to him. But she had spent far more time with him than any other member of the group aside from Isobel. It had started slowly, quietly, with the occasional meeting in the alcove near the library to talk over something Hermione had read and to glean his opinion on it. Then, one night in October, she had found a term that she felt sure she had heard before but could not remember. When Malfoy hadn’t been able to identify it either, they had retired to the library together in search of it. Eventually, it had gotten very late and Madam Pince had unceremoniously kicked them out. Hermione had suggested they continue back at her flat with her personal library. To her surprise, this had sparked what soon became a tradition of Malfoy leaving Hogwarts with her after dinner so that they may research into the night in the comfort of her flat.

They did not speak of the war, or personal matters, only those things that were specific to the Dividing Line. This, unfortunately, did involve a certain amount of candidness. The magic in Bastet’s Line dealt heavily with sex, pain and power. So Hermione had forced herself to reach a level of comfortability with Malfoy that allowed her to speak of such things with him. This was essential, but they still managed to dance around the subject, both talking about sex with a clinical directness and leaving out any personal experiences or thoughts on the matter. For all she knew, Malfoy could have been asexual and she did her best to seem that way to him in return.

Their time, at first, was spent experimenting with the Auxilium spell, minus any more of Malfoy’s ruthless experiments with her emotions. She had made a strict boundary on that from the get go. If they were going to put each other in danger with their research, they must both be fully aware and consensual. She had been firm on this, not that she needed to be. Malfoy too had been entirely against the idea of experiencing the kind of pain she had inflicted on him again.

They had made significant progress on the Auxilium spell, discovering that it could only be cast on the Dividing Line, after Malfoy had suggested they try it one night before they left Hogwarts. They discovered that only Hermione could cast it, as Malfoy himself had tried one evening, just to see what would happen. They also found that it did require a particular amount of skill and practice to wield it properly after what proved a disastrous experiment on Hermione’s part. She had been attempting to use the power to tickle Malfoy without touching him, the only non painful way they could think of experimenting with the spell’s effect on other people, and Hermione had accidentally broken one of his ribs with the force of her will. She couldn’t help but laugh at him as he whined piteously about her incompetence on that occasion. He had stopped short when she threatened to let him limp all the way to St Mungos without her healing.

They remained nothing but colleagues, though they shared space, conversation and the secret of Bastet’s Line. They were not friends, they were not close, merely equally curious about the magic they had found together. Hermione aimed to keep it that way. Despite her equitable working relationship with Malfoy, she still found him too brutal, sometimes childish and more than usually sarcastic. He shamed her and treated her like an idiot more often than not and they had an inordinate number of shouting matches while working together. Though he never did call her mudblood again.

She was not interested in the slightest, in furthering their partnership into friendship.

Aside from her evenings spent with Malfoy, the now regular Saturday gatherings at her flat with the female members of the tovarasi and her schooling, she worked at Flourish and Blotts on the weekend. And enjoyed it immensely. Graham was a considerate boss who openly tried to make her work environment easy going. She loved spending days surrounded by the smell of parchment and leather. She loved conversing with the customers and recommending titles to them. And, to top it all off, Graham had been right in saying she would utilise the staff discount to increase the volume of her own library. Her bookcase was heaving under the weight of the tomes she had acquired since she began working. There was an easiness in working at Flourish and Blotts that she couldn’t find anyway else. For fourteen blissful hours every weekend, she got to stop her racing mind and focus on just one task. It was relieving and greatly added to her happiness. Graham docked her pay only marginally for her room and board at first, until she insisted on paying him more. She was left only with enough money to buy the essentials and this she was happy with. Hermione never liked having too much money.

Towards the end of October, Hermione’s life got even easier. She finished her course of the Rusine potion. It was like a weight was lifted off her shoulders, a part of her life was over. It had been almost two months to the day since she had attempted to crucio herself and she was happy to finally be able to leave it behind her. She could now assure herself that the damage was healed and she’d be ok. She had wondered in passing quite a few times just how Teodora would know when the potion had done its job but she soon found out. Her stomach had been churning for a month every time she took it, but she just attributed this to her becoming sick of the taste until she had been unable to stop herself throwing up in Teodora’s office one evening after her dosage. Teodora had announced that this meant the potion had finished its work. Hermione wished she’d been warned but was happy and relieved none the less.

That night had seen one of her more emotional conversations with her teacher and she left the office feeling profoundly grateful for Teodora.

Hermione’s gratitude often extended to the people in her life. One such person was George who, on a few of her free evenings over the course of September and October, Hermione had spent time with. They had talked, agreeing that what had happened between them was a mistake not to be repeated. Hermione had agonised over George’s insistence that Ron never know what had occurred but eventually comforted herself with the idea that she would probably never have the chance to tell him even if she’d wanted to. After a few awkward dinners and heavy conversations, their friendship fell into an easy comfortableness that was satisfying to both of them. George did not talk to her about Ron’s absence and she did not bring it up with him, figuring the less she knew the better. He seemed to sense her moving beyond the war in a way and beyond her pain and he drifted away from her as a consequence. He was an old friend whom she saw rarely but did not love any less.

Even after all of this, the biggest change in Hermione’s life was her mindset. She still had panic attacks, but she was learning how to deal with them slowly, forming her own methods and exercises to make them more manageable. She still got depressed, regularly, she cried and hated herself but now, she leant into it with an acceptance she had no idea where she’d found. She would sit in her pain and feel it, waiting, not at all patiently, for it to pass. Of course, the old wounds were still there but they were buried. The tomb she had built deep in her mind all those months ago after her confrontation with Harry had been useful, though not as a pit to dump her hopes and dreams and caring. It had become a chasm in which to discard her pain and guilt and shame. She didn’t know if it was healthy or not, but it felt easier. She didn’t feel like she was being eaten away at from the inside anymore. She wasn’t second guessing herself. Something was wriggling its way into her psyche. There was a new voice in her head these days, that calmed her and reassured her when she felt down. It didn’t make the pain evaporate, lord no, but it lent her that acceptance so she was not tempted anymore to hurt herself or withdraw. She was open.

One evening at the beginning of November, as she read through Bastet’s Line in bed for the fiftieth time, she realised with a start that she was feeling happy. Properly happy. Happy with her situation, happy with her life, happy with her friends. It was such a radical change of pace for her that she immediately had a panic attack and had to lie on her bathroom floor with her cheek pressed against the cold tiles for ten minutes. But the feeling had been there and that was comfort enough, no matter how fleeting. She’d felt content.

She’d felt like she was healing.

“Malfoy, I am not doing that.” said Hermione one rainy Thursday night in late November, in response a rather impertinent question from her colleague.

“Granger, come on, it’s one of the only spells in this fucking book that I can cast!” his voice was whiney like a child’s. It grated on Hermione nerves.

“Certainly not.” she said sternly.

“Look, just listen…”

“Malfoy I’ve read that book at least fifty times…” Hermione said wearily.

“Just listen!” he demanded. Hermione rolled her eyes. “Apicem: a spell to bring a woman to a spontaneous climax and one of the only I have yet heard of that can be cast by a male. The witches I have spoken to have said that this is because the goddess has a sense of joviality and believes that a woman should be given this succulent, sensual reward at every available opportunity. I, myself, have had the pleasure to…”

Hermione cut him off. “Malfoy I know what it says! The answer is no! I do not want… That.”

“You look like you could use it.” he said sulkily. Hermione ignored him. This was not the first argument they had had on the subject.

“Why don’t we try the Virtus Lucis?” she asked, in an attempt to compromise.

Malfoy shrugged grumpily. “For some reason I don’t really fancy having you butcher my palms just so I can conjure light in my hands.”

Hermione knew he was just being stubborn and quite probably would be entirely willing to allow her to brew the potion necessary for this. But Malfoy was used to getting his own way and she had the feeling he was arguing with her just because she was saying no.

Such was another evening spent in her flat. Hermione was perched on the couch, pouring over a difficult transfiguration essay while Malfoy lay sprawled on her Persian rug, Bastet’s Line open in front of him. She stood up and stretched her aching muscles.

“Can I have one too?” Malfoy grunted from the floor.

Hermione didn’t bother answering as she trudged into the kitchen and set the kettle on the stove. She grabbed two mugs from the cupboard and put a tea bag in each, adding three spoonfuls of sugar to hers and a half a teaspoon to Malfoy’s. Once the jug was boiled, she poured the boiling water into the cups and topped them up with milk.

As she returned to the lounge room she noticed Malfoy staring hard at the book in front of him.

“Found something interesting?” she asked lightly, praying that he’d moved on from the Apicem spell. She handed him his tea.

“Yeah.” he said distractedly, taking a sip from his mug. “This is too sweet. What part of half a teaspoon do you not understand, Granger?”

Hermione rolled her eyes again, a habit that she had honed by being in Malfoy’s presence so regularly and was beginning to make her eye sockets ache. She sat back down on the couch, noting that Malfoy continued to drink the tea regardless of his complaints.

“This potion.” he said after a moment, “sounds sort of interesting.”

“Oh?”

“But there’s no instructions for it. Grindelwald just gets waxing lyrical about it and moves on.” He sounded frustrated.

“Which potion is it?” asked Hermione.

“The Zeitei Otrava.” he replied. “It’s a…”

“I know what it is!” cried Hermione, “The Goddess’ Poison. Oh, I wish I knew how to get the recipe...” her longing was evident in her voice. “Can you imagine? Seeing magic! Actually seeing it! I can’t even begin to visualize what that would be like. He describes it so beautifully.” she sighed, “But he…”

“… doesn’t say anything about where to find the recipe.” Malfoy finished her sentence.

“There’s got to be something, right?” said Hermione desperately. “Maybe we could go down Knockturn Alley?”

“No.” said Malfoy severely. “If anyone’s doing that, it’ll be me and me alone.”

“Fine.” Hermione huffed. “But you’ll do it?”

“Of course. I’ll check the library at the manor too.”

“Ok. What shall I do?” asked Hermione eagerly.

“You could go to Romania.” Malfoy replied wryly.

“What?”

“That’s where he says he took it. Romania.”

Hermione laughed sardonically. “Yes, I’ll do that. I’m sure it’s lovely this time of year.” She thought for a moment. “I could try asking around again…”

Malfoy gave her a long suffering look. “Seriously? I thought you said you’d read the book. He says the witch who brewed it took blood from his heart, Granger. You really think people are going to react well to that?”

“Yeah, alright, it was just an idea…” said Hermione grumpily.

“Well, think it through next time.” he responded dismissively.

“God, you’re such an arsehole.” she snarled.

“I try.” he said wearily.

“Why have you got to be like that?!” she snapped.

Malfoy sighed exasperatedly and sat up, rubbing his eyes, “Let’s just skip this, shall we? You throw insults then I throw insults, banter, banter, so on and so forth and then you storm off. Let’s not and say we did, yeah?”

Hermione stormed off into her bedroom.

This was their dynamic now. She wouldn’t throw him out of her flat or refuse to speak to him. Each member of the group had a special significance to Hermione, they were each useful to her in their own ways. This was Malfoy’s use. He helped her quench her thirsty curiosity. And she put up with his sarcastic and insulting attitude because of this. After each argument he would act as if the confrontation had never happened, as he always did. She couldn’t decide whether she thought this was incredibly mature or incredibly childish.

Hermione curled into her bed to read, knowing that Malfoy would ignore her absence and continue on with his studies in her lounge room.

She had just propped a book up on her chest when there was a knock on her front door.

After a moment, she heard Malfoy say sarcastically, “I’ll get it, shall I?”

She heard voices filtering in from the lounge room before Isobel appeared in her bedroom doorway a minute later, her blonde hair hanging limply around her face, wet with the rain. Hermione patted the bed beside her. To her confusion, Isobel closed her bedroom door before joining Hermione on the bed.

“Hey.” she said, sounding distant and distracted.

“What’s wrong?” Hermione asked, setting her book down on the nightstand and sitting up.

Isobel shrugged. “Nothing… Just thinking too much.”

“Are you alright?”

“Yeah…” she seemed to shake herself a little, “You fighting with Draco?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “When am I not?”

Isobel gave a hollow laugh.

“Don’t you think it’s weird?” Hermione asked.

“What?”

“Me and him. I’m sort of amazed no one’s asked about it.”

Isobel held her hands up and laughed. “Hey, I’m not going to question your weird little relationship. You guys seem to be making it work.”

Hermione cringed. “You talk about it like we’re a couple.”

Her friend looked confused. “Aren't you?”

Hermione cackled madly. “What?! Where in the hell did you get that idea?!”

“Well he comes home with you every night and doesn’t get back to the common room until really late. You always sit together in class and at lunch and dinner… We just assumed you were… Together.”

Hermione thought about this for a moment. It had never occurred to her what her partnership with Malfoy must look like from the outside. But now, she realised that Isobel’s conclusion made a lot of sense. Regardless, it still made her want to crawl out of her own skin.

“Well no. We are certainly not a couple. Wait, what do you mean ‘we’? Are you saying the rest of the tovarasi think this too?”

Isobel shrugged and nodded.

“Oh my god… That’s… Wow.” Hermione shook her head in wonder, “How has Ginny not tried to murder me?”

“Dunno.”

Hermione noticed again how cold and sad her friend seemed. Hermione hated it when Isobel was sad, it seeped into her bones. She laid a hand on Isobel’s knee.

“What’s going on? And don’t say nothing because I know that’s bollocks.”

Isobel took a shaky breath. “It’s my father’s birthday next week.”

“Oh.” Hermione didn’t know what else to say. She didn’t like to think of Isobel’s father because it made her question their friendship. She didn’t like to remember that the closest person to her right now was a death eater’s daughter.

“Do you ever feel like you’re obsolete?” asked Isobel, quietly, “Like now that the war’s over, there’s no point anymore?”

Hermione nodded mutely.

“I don’t know,” said Isobel with a sigh, “It’s easy for you. You’re a war hero. People want you around… No one wants me around. I’ll always be painted with the same colour as my father. I’ll always be as good as a death eater to them.”

Hermione knew this was the point at which a good friend would tell her that she wasn’t obsolete and someone did want her around. Hermione wanted her around. But she couldn’t say it. Instead she said, “But Malfoy’s in the same boat…”

Isobel shrugged, “Yeah, but he’s different. He doesn’t give a rats what people think. When people call him names when he’s in public, he brushes it off like it doesn’t matter. I can’t do that. Every time someone does that to me, it kills.”

Hermione gaped, “Wait, people call you names?”

Isobel nodded, “All the time. That’s why I don’t leave the castle much. People at school are a little nicer.”

“But, you come here all the time… Are you saying strangers abuse you in the street when you’re walking to my house?” Isobel nodded again, “Right well that’s going to stop. I’ll meet you at the Leaky Cauldron every time if I have to. Anyone who wants to abuse you, has to go through me first.”

Isobel smiled sheepishly, “Thanks Hermione.”

“That’s quite alright.”

Hermione felt bad. She knew Isobel needed more from her. She knew she should be loving, reassuring, but it just wasn’t coming out for some reason. She felt blocked.

“Would you like to stay for tea?” Hermione asked lightly, knowing this was not enough.

Isobel shook her head, smiling sadly. “No, I should get back. I just wanted to see you.”

Hermione nodded, again unable to say anything much. Isobel stood up and made for the bedroom door. Hermione followed her donning her cloak and a scarf.

They entered the lounge room and Isobel said a hurried goodbye to Malfoy before following Hermione out of the flat.

They walked in silence up the street, the rain pattering down on the hoods of their cloaks. Hermione noticed the few people that were still out in this weather, were indeed staring, though they said nothing. She glared at those who stared too long. She’d meant what she said. Anyone who so much as breathed in Isobel’s direction would get a stunner right in the face.

Once the two girls reached the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, Hermione gave Isobel a warm hug, trying to pour all of her appreciation and feeling into it, then watched as Isobel disapparated.

Hermione walked back to her flat, hands in her pockets and her mind abuzz.

She was worried about Isobel but it was more than concern. There was a feeling, niggling at the back of her mind, that told her something wasn’t right in her life right now, despite all the wonderful calm and acceptance she’d been feeling. It had seemed like things her looking up, that it was getting better. But something was coming. Looming on the horizon like a storm. She could smell it in the air like approaching rain.

Hermione didn’t know what to do with this feeling. She was a fixer, a mender. When something was wrong with the world around her, she flew into action to repair it. She’d done it with the house elves, she’d done it with the war, she’d done it every single year at school with all the trouble her and Harry and Ron had run into. But she didn’t know what was wrong here, so all she could do was sit patiently in wait and hope she’d be ready when it hit.

She drew her hood up a little more to protect her face from the drizzle and walked on.

A/N It turns out that trying to put a video up on the internet is harder than it looks! So you must wait patiently for your review response at this point! I'm sorry.

To all those who reviewed, thanks for the love! I hope everyone liked this new chapter!

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