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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
- 22
- 23
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CHAPTER 23

UNTOUCHABLE FACE

"To tell you the truth I prefer the worst of you."

Hermione felt the effects almost immediately. The room had gone strangely dark and her head was spinning slightly. The colours around her had bled out to make the world black and white and oddly fuzzy, like an old black and white film. There seemed nothing different around her aside from the strange darkness and she wondered briefly if the potion had not worked.

"Oh!" Draco breathed, his eyes focused around Hermione's body.

"What?" she asked, looking down at herself to find nothing different aside from the fact that her once red singlet top was now a murky black. She stared back up at Draco as his eyes flitted about the room, noticing that they were moist, as if he were on the verge of tears.

Hermione was about to question him again when suddenly, colour bloomed in her vision, so intense that it made her eyes hurt and so beautiful she understood completely the tears building in Draco's eyes and felt them forming on her lower eye lids as well. Most of the colour and light came from Draco, who was pulsing with a soft blue light, marred only by the gashes of red and black surrounding his right arm and his head. The floor and walls seemed to be glowing slightly green and when Hermione stood up and moved away from the bed, she felt like she was walking through a low hanging green mist that was clinging to the foundations of her flat. She looked down at her own hands, which pulsed blue, the same as Draco's, and realised that her right arm was free of the red and black smears.

"I think… I think that's the dark mark." she breathed, gesturing towards his arm. He looked down and groaned as if in pain, when he saw the smears on his aura. Hermione was seized with a fierce empathy, her heart aching for him. She had not yet seen the dark mark as he always wore long sleeved shirts, but could not even begin to imagine how it must feel for him to have to live with it every day, stare down at it knowing that it was a token of his stupid mistakes, of his parent's stupid mistakes. She felt his abandonment then, as strongly as her own; her heart clenched in her chest at the thought of how it would hurt him having a father who would rather murder and torture people than be there for his son, a father that was now in prison. Lucius's love of Voldemort, his love for the safety of his own skin, of power, outweighed his love for Draco. He'd abandoned his son.

Hermione went to Draco immediately as the tears stung her eyes at the sight of him staring down at his arm, sadness etched into his features. She took his hand in hers to comfort him.

When their skin connected, Hermione felt the same warmth she'd felt when they'd taken the Virtus Lucis seeping into her hand. But it was softer, less urgent and less overwhelming. The seam where her skin pressed into his was throbbing a deeper blue, like the ocean at night, under the light of a full moon. She lifted her left hand, the one that was not clutching Draco's, and pressed a fingertip to his cheek, watching, enthralled, as the dark blue glowed and faded slowly when she removed it. Draco's head turned up towards her as she did this, not in the least bit confused. He laid a hand on her right forearm and, when he removed it, witnessed the same effect.

They smiled at each other, each silently acknowledging their gratitude for being part of this awe inspiring experience.

Hermione slowly sank down onto the bed next to Draco so that they were seated side by side. Their arms rested into the dent between their bodies as they continued to hold hands. Draco slowly withdrew his hand and turned her arm over so that the soft skin of the underside of her forearm faced the ceiling. She watched as he used the tip of a finger to draw a word on her skin.

Guilt.

It glowed dark blue for a moment before fading. Hermione reached out with her left hand and clumsily drew a response on her own skin.

Me too.

They watched as the dark blue faded, both sitting in silence, staring at the place the words had been drawn on her arm. Hermione's mind was strangely blank, filled with nothing but the here and now, nothing but what she was experiencing, the Zeitei Otrava. It was a relief after what felt like years and years of anxiety.

Hermione watched as Draco lifted his hands suddenly, holding them out in front of his body, his face contorting in concentration. After a moment, the beautiful green light that she had gifted him with the Virtus Lucis bloomed in his cupped palms. It was still eerily and serenely green, like sunlight filtering through the treetops of a forest, but now, Hermione could see tiny spider web like tendrils weaving out of the glowing ball of luminosity, writhing like human hair in water. She realised this was the magic. As she leant closer she noticed that the tendrils were curling up Draco's arm, coming out from under his skin.

"You see it?" he asked in a whisper.

Hermione nodded and reached out a hand, the strands moved as one in the same direction, almost reaching out to her skin as it drew closer. When she was a few inches away from Draco's ball of light, they connected and sank down into her flesh just as the warmth of his light flooded up her hand. She could see them; many glittering lines connecting her fingers with the light.

Hermione didn't know if he was capable of doing what he'd done last time they were in this position without taking the Virtus Lucis potion, but she was not willing to chance it and so, carefully withdrew her hand from the light. The shimmering stands pulled out of her skin stickily.

"I want to try casting a spell." she said, again in a whisper. It was as if her flat had become a temple, or a library; speaking loudly felt almost blasphemous.

Draco nodded understandingly and stood to follow her into the lounge room. Again, the world was black and white here, but Hermione noticed a few minor differences. Not only were the floor and walls covered in the same greenish mist but there was a warm light seeping out of her beaded bag, her record player and, strangely enough, off Draco's cloak, which was slung over the arm of her lounge. She hazarded a guess that it was because these objects were in some way magical or had been altered by a spell. The bag, of course, held an undetectable extension charm and the record player was a wizarding device that worked off magic rather than electricity. But she could not explain Draco's cloak and made a mental note to ask him about it later.

Hermione bent to pick up her wand from where it had fallen when she and Draco had embraced on the couch earlier and noticed as she did that the same hair like tendrils pulsed out of it when she touched it. The tendrils dove happily into her skin as her aura merged with the thin stick of wood. Soon, none of them were visible outside her body, but she could see faintly, if she looked very closely, that they now pulsed underneath her skin and inside the wood of her wand.

"Draco." she said quietly, "Come here and look at this."

He approached her and took her wand when she offered it to him. To Hermione's surprise, the tendrils did not dive into his flesh as they had with her but simply hung over the surface as if his skin was too hard to penetrate.

"What am I looking at?" he asked, confused. Hermione cast about the room until she spotted Draco's wand on the table.

"Watch." she picked it up. Again, the tendrils burst from the wand but like with Draco, they did not sink into her skin. Hermione held her hand out, gesturing for them to swap. When her palm connected with her wand, the tendrils dove into her flesh again and Draco gave a small, excited gasp as his did the same.

"So, it's true what they say. The wand chooses the wizard." she laughed quietly.

"Yeah." he grinned at her.

"What should I cast?"

Draco took a minute to think about this. "I think... Auxilium."

Hermione nodded and took a deep breath. She pointed her wand at the floor and whispered the incantation, not entirely sure what to expect.

Draco gasped as the green mist that hung around the floor suddenly shifted violently and threw out pulsing, luminescent green strands towards Hermione, penetrating every inch of her skin as the usual heat moved up from her feet and through her body. The movement felt so out of place in the soft atmosphere of the potion induced haze that Hermione felt fear and shock bubble up in her stomach and was seized with the desire to throw the tendrils off her. Instantly they softened in light as they sunk into her flesh, sensing her distress, but when she looked down, she could still see them moving around under her skin like veins, bright and radiant.

"You're... You're glowing." said Draco reverentially.

Hermione tried to relax into the spell, assuring herself there was no difference here than when she took it any other time, except that she could see the magic. Of course, the spell sensed her wish for inner tranquillity and instantly, Hermione began to feel waves of calm and goodwill washing over her. She felt love, pure love, moving through every inch of her being. She looked over at Draco, who was standing, staring at her as if she were some kind of elemental being. She lifted her arm towards him, wishing him to be near her, and watched as the strands flew gracefully out of her fingers to wrap around him and nudge him to move towards her. He did.

As he drew near, her hand drifted up to caress his face. The tendrils seeped out from under her flesh and seemed to kiss the area around the point at which she was touching his cheek. He sighed contentedly and smiled. She smiled back.

"This is amazing." she said, tears building in her eyes again.

He nodded and moved a hand to run through the soft hairs on the back of her neck. Hermione lifted her face, noting his closeness, and closed the space between them to kiss him softly.

One of his hands found its way around her waist to press into the small of her back, urging her to push her body up against him. Hermione returned this gesture by wrapping her arms around him tightly. The kiss was just like she'd already experienced, but without the pulsing heat in her abdomen. There was nothing sexual here. She felt as if she were worshipping at the altar of a god.

Suddenly, Hermione and Draco both drew back, breaking their kiss at exactly the same time. A sort of music had filled air; it didn't seem to be coming from the record player or from outside, but from the tendrils themselves which, they now noticed, had wrapped around their connected bodies, encasing them in a faintly glowing green cage.

Hermione stared up at Draco in shock. The sound was achingly beautiful, the notes soft hums that buzzed through her veins, sending shivers up her spine.

She began to notice, as if it had always been there but she was only just listening to it properly, a woman's voice singing, almost chanting along with the music. But, Hermione realised, it was not just one voice, but many, echoing each other, harmonising.

"Born from the yew tree down by the reeds,

Swims the priestess of old in the warm summer breeze,

She once held the key, now she drifts out to sea,

With the souls left unbroken by all that they've seen.

Down to the sea, a twisted path leads,

The preacher who breathes out a cold winter breeze,

Down to the sea, blood blooming weeds

Chase those who go dancing in sad moonlit dreams.

Nobody knows, nobody sees,

The priestess of old, out in the sea."

The voices drifted away, as if the singers had moved into another room. Hermione's heart raced and her hands began to shake with suppressed emotion.

"Did you hear...?" she whispered.

He nodded, smiling.

"Was it... Do you think..." she stuttered, feeling her legs become weak with the emotion she was feeling.

"Bastet." he breathed, continuing to smile down at Hermione.

She reeled slightly, totally overcome with the implications of this. In the back of her mind, her inner voice had begun to chatter again, urging her to question, to seek answers. Strangely, it was Luna's voice that broke through, encouraging her to accept the unexplainable and just be in the moment. Her mind rebelled slightly against this.

She and Draco stood like this for some time, staring at each other and around themselves at the beautiful light, each lost in their own thoughts.

"How long has it been?" Hermione asked after a while, withdrawing her arms from around Draco's neck so that he might be able to look at his watch.

"Almost an hour." he responded, glancing at his wrist.

"We should sleep. Teodora said that as the potion wears off, the best thing to do is sleep." her voice was slightly high as panic began to darken the edges of her vision. She noticed the tendrils, though still present, were beginning to fade, while the colour had started to leak back into her everyday surroundings.

Draco looked concerned and nodded, taking her by the hand and leading her into the bedroom. They both climbed onto the bed, fully clothed. They lay on their sides, facing each other, a foot of space hanging between them. Hermione took an unsteady breath, noticing that her hands had begun to shake.

"Are you alright?" asked Draco, his speech muffled by the pillow.

Hermione nodded uncertainly, "Yeah... It's just the unfamiliar feeling. It triggers me. What about you?"

"I feel fine... A bit... Overwhelmed but... Yeah." Hermione envied his apparent tranquillity, thinking quietly that he sounded a little drunk. He gave her an understanding smile as her hands clutched the blankets underneath her tightly. "It's ok." he said softly, "You're safe."

She smiled, grateful that he'd known exactly what she'd needed to hear, and closed her eyes, taking one last deep breath before drifting into sleep.

She could feel Draco's breath on her face.

Hermione awoke a few hours later to find her flat in total darkness. She could hear Draco breathing softly beside her, still fast asleep, she was only able to make out his silhouette in the inky blackness.

She groped for her wand, which she vaguely remembered leaving on her nightstand. When found, she whispered, "Lumos." and a dull sort of light sparked at the end. It was feeble compared to the light she'd already seen that night but it still made her eyes sting. Her head felt heavy, almost as if she'd had too much to drink.

Hermione sat up, scrubbing at her face tiredly. The memory of her and Draco's experience with the Zeitei Otrava felt far too intense, and so her mind was shying away from it. It was all a confusing blur of colour and light and emotion.

She stood slowly, careful not to move the bed so that Draco remained asleep. She needed a few minutes to herself.

Hermione made her way into the kitchen, lighting lanterns as she went and squinting in the brightness. She grabbed, from her cupboards, the makings for tea and set the jug to boil. Her eyes drifted out of focus as, little by little, her mind began to let out little snippets of memory for her perusal.

The light, the colour, the tendrils, the voices, the warmth.

All in all, it had been a strange night.

What bothered Hermione the most about it was that so many of the things she'd experienced defied all logical explanation. She'd felt Bastet's love, heard her voice in song. But was it really Bastet? Or was Bastet just an easy name to give something unidentifiable? Perhaps it was the chanting of the many other women who had taken the potion, transcended through the ages, through time and space, so that they could be heard in her living room? The potion was sacred in northern Europe and Hermione knew that sacred sorts of magic often moved in ways too difficult to understand. Take Harry and Voldemort for example. No matter how much anyone researched their bond, it would never be explained properly.

At that thought, she began to imagine all the different ways in which she might experiment with the Zeitei Otrava. But almost as soon as it came, the idea dispersed. Something told Hermione that she was probably better off leaving the potion as it was, and simply accept that she had, that night, experienced something great, something beautiful, something that had left her awestruck.

Seeing her own magic had been just as indescribably wonderful as she'd though it would be. Hermione had never imagined magic moving like that, in tendrils and strands, waving like wheat in the breeze, waiting for something to engage with. Strangely, she had no more desire to research, didn't want to push the Zeitei Otrava any further. Of course, she and Draco would continue working through the magic of the Dividing Line; there were so many new things to look into, such as Grindelwald's use of them in his war. But she really wanted to leave the Goddess's Poison alone. It was perfect, beautiful as it was and Hermione had no interest in trying to bend it to her will or use it to further her own power.

It was educational. And that was all. She felt in her guts that it was a potion meant for observation. She'd wanted to see her magic, but did not want to attempt to change it.

Maybe, at some point, she might look down the road of using the Zeitei Otrava so that she may better understand how her magic worked, how it moved about her space, but that was it. And if she chose that path, it was a long way in her future. First, she had to get her schooling out of the way, get through this year, and then decide what she was going to do with her life.

It wasn't the first time the thought had occurred to her. Quite often she questioned herself about what lay in wait for her on the other side of Hogwarts, what she could do.

She knew that she had a position with the Aurors waiting for her should she choose to take it, but the job held little appeal for Hermione. The war had already damaged her enough. Plus, she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Harry and Ron were heading in that direction, or they had been last she'd checked, and she did not wish to spend the rest of her life dancing around the awkwardness of her past with the both of them.

Perhaps law might be better suited to her? If that were her chosen vocation, she would be able to prevent people like Narcissa Malfoy being put in Azkaban. She might be able to do some good in the world rather than just fighting against the evil polluting it as she would if she were an Auror.

"Hey." said a croaky voice from behind her, making Hermione jump in surprise as Draco tore her from her reverie. He was good at that.

He looked ruffled from sleep, his usually sleek blonde hair sticking up in odd peaks and angles. His eyes were squinting in the harsh light of her kitchen. He yawned widely and stretched. "Are you making one for me?"

She smiled, "Of course. I don't want to risk your wrath."

He chuckled and moved past her to grab some biscuits from the pantry. As he did, his hand landed on the small of her back and it was all she could do not to stiffen visibly.

It was an unremarkable gesture of affection, but the fact that it was unremarkable was what made her worry. It spoke volumes.

Draco placing his hand on the small of her back as he walked past her told her that they had broken down the boundaries of personal space; it told her he was comfortable touching her in an entirely non-sexual way. It wasn't intimacy, it wasn't sensuality, it was just affection. Plain and simple.

With a jolt Hermione realised that it wasn't something she particularly minded, she wasn't bothered anymore that he continued to break down the many walls she'd put up to keep him out. It was just a shock every time she noticed it happening.

There was no point fighting it anymore, she couldn't be bothered really. She liked his presence in her life, she liked him in her flat and she liked him touching her. So, why not?

It was all Hermione could do not to turn to him right then and tell him that yes, she would 'go round' with him. She was sorely tempted before she remembered Isobel and she decided then and there that she was going to have that awkward conversation no matter what it cost her in terms of guilt or pain. It was time she behaved like an adult, followed Draco's example, and stood up to take responsibility for her actions and her feelings.

Hermione finished making the tea and followed Draco into the lounge room. They sat together on the couch and she curled her legs under her as she sipped the warm, refreshing beverage. Both of them seemed disinclined to talk at that point and Hermione was quite happy to sit in silence and let her mind wander.

After a few minutes, Draco turned to her, an inquisitive look on his face. "Hermione?"

"Mmm?" she responded, her voice vague.

"Did you think about being with me before Isobel said anything?"

She balked slightly, quietly shocked, both because she was surprised he did not want to talk about his experience of taking the potion and also because he'd picked such an odd time to have that conversation.

Hermione thought about it for a minute before she spoke, silently sipping her tea as his words rolled around in her head. "Maybe. I'm not sure. If I did, I don't think I ever let it get very far. I think I'm only just starting to realise how stubborn I can be." she said, wryly.

He laughed and said, with a sardonic edge to his voice, "Really?"

Hermione nodded, smiling. "After Isobel told me what she thought, I guess it sort of took root. I tried to ignore it but..." she shrugged to show her obvious confusion at her own mental processes before she asked, "What about you? When did you start thinking of me?"

Draco responded quickly, as if he had the answer to this question ready and waiting. "From the day that you came to class and you hadn't taken the Rusine potion. When I saw into your mind."

Hermione paled. She knew that the next logical question would be to ask what he'd seen in there but, right then, she didn't want to know. She was feeling happy sitting on her couch with Draco and drinking tea. She didn't want to taint it by remembering that black time.

Instead, she simply nodded, praying that he would not push the subject. When it seemed as if he had nothing more to say, she relaxed and let her mind wander again and again, after a few minutes, he spoke. Though this time, his voice was far less confident.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Draco?"

He fidgeted, looking down at his hands in his lap. She thought that he looked very much like a schoolboy who'd been caught doing the wrong thing. "I just... I just wanted to say... I'm sorry for calling you a mudblood."

She remained silent for a moment, staring at him in shock and confusion. "Why are you saying sorry now?" she asked somewhat defensively as all the old wounds began to tingle painfully.

"I just thought that... Seeing as we're... Doing what we're doing... You deserve an apology. So, I'm sorry." he swallowed nervously and rested his head in his hands. After a moment he shook himself and continued in a much stronger voice, "Actually, no. I'm not sorry for calling you a mudblood. I'm sorry I meant it. I wish... I wish there was some way you could understand that I didn't choose this life. I was just born into it. But I'm not going to pretend it didn't fit with me, that I didn't like it. I'm not going to pretend that I didn't hate you. I did. More than you can imagine. I guess I felt threatened by you. I'd always been told that being muggleborn made you... inferior, unrefined, dirty. But... You've never been any of those things. You're just as smart and logical as me and that just didn't fit with everything I'd been told, everything I believed. So I really meant it each and every time I called you mudblood."

He looked at her and she nodded, still slightly overwhelmed by his sudden openness and honesty. "I understand Draco. I get it."

He continued to stare down at his hands, frowning. After a moment he looked up at her, "I think you were right to be unsure about me when we first went back to Hogwarts. I'd realised by then that there isn't any perfection in being pure blood. I'd realised it, Hermione, but I didn't quite feel it. I was still questioning it and quietly thinking that maybe, just maybe, my father had been right all along."

Hermione did not feel the fierce triumph she would have felt three months ago at this news, instead she felt fear. Fear that she'd been wrong to trust Draco, wrong to let him touch her. But before she could say anything, before she could express this, he continued.

"But now, I look at the world I grew up in and see that everything was just always so... So cruel. It wasn't a great place to be. There was no warmth or happiness and I wonder now what exactly they were all trying to achieve. We had money and status and power but that didn't do anything in the end did it? Because underneath all that we were still fucked up. The day they took my father to Azkaban, I wore my best suit. It cost over two hundred galleons. But I thought, even if I had the money to buy this suit, and I look pretty good in it, he still fucked up and landed in Azkaban. While I wore that suit."

She was shocked to see tears in his eyes.

"It didn't change anything... Not a thing." he paused a moment to wipe his face on his sleeve. Hermione's heart leapt into her throat at what he said next, "You know, that night Bellatrix tortured you was just... Fuck. It was bad. I was so... I really wanted to believe you deserved what she was doing to you! But I just couldn't get away from the fact that you hadn't fucking done anything! I remember, I still thought I was better than you, superior to you, of course, but I couldn't make my mind accept the fact that you deserved torture just because of that." he looked Hermione full in the face, "That's why I didn't do anything about it. It wasn't because I was scared of Bellatrix or Riddle, though I was; it was because I felt like my head was on fire, because I was finally, finally, beginning to question some of it. For some reason the dark places in my life led me to that room and made me watch what the people I loved were capable of and see that it might just be wrong."

Suddenly, his face contorted in agony and Hermione almost recoiled from the sight. "Since that night, I've slowly come to realise that I'm capable of it too. I don't like that. I don't feel like I can be a part of society when I can lift my wand and cast an unforgiveable without thought. The remorse is there, oh yes," he laughed ruefully, "But not until later. Not until afterwards. For you, Hermione, it's easy. The answer is obvious. If you are presented with the opportunity to actually torture someone you really hate, to cause them real pain, you don't do it. No question, no pause for thought. You just don't. I am living proof of that. It's an obvious decision. But for me it's not. Can you understand what that feels like?"

Hermione sighed as his face turned to her, pleading, as if asking her to somehow make everything he felt ok, to make him a good person. She almost reached out a hand to comfort him, but couldn't. "Logically, Draco, I understand. But emotionally, I don't. I could have no way of knowing what that feels like."

"Do you pity me?" he asked quietly.

"I always have." she replied.

"Maybe that's what makes you the better person." he said, his voice cracking.

Hermione hesitated before saying, "The world isn't split up into good people and Death Eaters. Some of us are allowed to just be as we are. And... I... I like you. Just as you are." she looked pointedly down at his right arm, "Scars and all."

He smiled at her weakly and nodded, his eyes still misted with tears. Hermione moved across the couch to sidle into his side. He lifted his arm once he realised what she was doing and she rested her head into the nook of his underarm, her cheek pressed into his chest. It was the familiarity all over again, the broken down walls. It was effortless and easy, like they had been close for years. But they hadn't.

Neither of them spoke for some time. Everything Draco had said was repeating over in Hermione's head. Much of it gave her cause to fear him, to doubt him, but she found that she valued his honesty far higher than any of that.

And another wall was broken down.

A/N So I'm back in the land of the living! The bush was lovely of course, but I'm glad to be home. The internet where I was was ridiculously slow and so AFF was glitching and not allowing me to post. Obviously the problem is now rectified with broadband haha.

Next chapter will be up momentarily and at the end of it, I will respond to ALL of your reviews!

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