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
- 25
- 26
- 27
CHAPTER 26

WILLING TO FIGHT

“I fight fire with words. Words are hotter than flames. Words are wetter than water.”

“Is there any of this you feel particularly attached to, mudblood?”

Again, the word carved through her nerves like a serrated blade. She was leaning against her lounge room wall, her knees drawn up to her chest. Her hands and ankles remained bound. Exactly where Harry had placed her an hour ago. He was striding from one end of the room to the other, depositing items and food into her beaded bag which lay open on the coffee table. Her eyes followed him dully.

She was docile and complacent, inside her head was blank. But Hermione knew that the hot knot of fury and wrath that was nested in her chest was ready. She was ready, should the opportunity arise that she might escape.

But the thing was, she didn’t know if the opportunity would arise. Harry watched her like a hawk and she hadn’t the foggiest idea what he’d done with her wand but she hadn’t seen it in two days. None of the spells of the Dividing Line could be used defensively except Auxilium. But, for that she needed her wand. She felt naked and vulnerable without it and craved it passionately.

Hermione looked around at her belongings, trying for what felt like the fiftieth time, to spy out the thin piece of wood poking out from under something but to no avail. Her flat was in chaos. Almost everything she owned was broken or smashed and scattered around the room. Most of it consisted of inconsequential, replaceable things. Except the record player which lay in pieces on the floor. The sight of it made her heart hurt. It had been left to her by Remus, it was invaluable.

In the end, if she couldn’t have her wand, Hermione wished she could take something of Draco’s. Wherever she was going, she longed to have a piece of him with her. Something that reminded her that the kisses they’d shared, the intimacy that had been built between them was real.

“There’s a record.” she said monotonously after a moment of thought, “In that pile there… It’s called Unplugged in New York. I’d like to take it.”

Harry reached for the pile and began flicking carelessly through it. He finally pulled the familiar maroon coloured sleeve out of the stack and held it up to her for confirmation. She nodded and he threw it into the beaded bag indifferently.

She was comforted by the knowledge that there was a part of what she’d shared with Draco going with her.

Quietly, she wished she were less stubborn, maybe less emotionally invested. Then she could have told Draco about Harry and none of this would have happened… But maybe she needed to be more stubborn. Stubborn enough to want to break through his anger that day that felt like a million years ago and tell him the truth.

But, she told herself, what’s done is done. Playing the ‘should have’ game was only going to make her feel worse. She had to keep control of her emotions if she was to get away from Harry. There was no part of her that needed to be the noble, brawny Gryffindor now, no. Now she needed to be the snake. She needed to sit and wait for the perfect moment to strike. Because if she didn’t, if she struck and missed, Harry would just tighten her bonds and torture her more. These things were counterproductive.

Her blood simmered with her suppressed feelings as Harry suddenly appeared, crouching down in front of her. “You wear such a pretty mask of indifference, but I can feel your anger.” he said.

Hermione made no reply, simply continuing to stare at him with what he had called her ‘pretty mask of indifference’.

He held her gaze and she did not look away. He looked at her again as if he found her interesting, like her emotions were something foreign he could study.

“Oh, how you fear me.” he said quietly.

“Not fear.” she responded, a strength in her voice that she could not entirely place. As she said it, she realised it was true. She was past fearing him. Fear was something she’d felt two nights ago, before she realised just how culpable it was for her ruined life. After that, fear had been told to fuck right off. She could manage without it.

Harry laughed lowly, as if he did not believe her. But she was fine with that, fine with allowing him to underestimate her.

After a moment, he stood, still chuckling and resumed his task of packing her beaded bag. She let her head fall back against the wall behind her with a soft thud and cast her eyes out into Diagon Alley. Harry had thrown her curtains open to reveal the dimly lit street. It had begun to snow about an hour ago but Hermione could barely see the fluffy white powder drifting down from the sky through the heavy darkness that blanketed Diagon Alley.

Tomorrow she’d be venturing out into that, covered in Harry’s cloak. He’d told her they’d apparate straight off her balcony and to the Forest of Dean where they’d camped so long ago.

If you allow it, said a voice in the back of her mind… Yes… if she allowed it, he would take her far away from her home, her friends, her tovarasi. Far from help’s reach.

Something occurred to her then. The tovarasi. Shouldn’t they have been able to feel her anguish just like they had felt Isobel’s? Shouldn’t they be breaking down her door, running to her defence, clamouring to save her? What if keeping her emotions under so tight a lid had stopped them being able to feel her?

But what if they had felt her and had just decided not to come? What if they didn’t care?

Hermione felt a dull pang of loneliness at the thought.

Either way, whatever the tovarasi might be doing, Hermione realised then that she could not allow Harry to take her away. She would not resign herself to this fate as she’d resigned herself to so many things over the last few years. This time, she would choose her own destiny; choose not to be led into chaos and pain again. Choose not to sit in silence and wait to be saved.

All she had to do was pass the time until her moment to strike. But strike she would before the dawn of the next day, or she knew all hope would be lost. The moment Harry took her to the Forest of Dean; she knew there was no escape. It had to be tonight.

After a few more hours spent watching Harry pack her entire library of books on blood magic into her beaded bag, she began to nod off where she sat. He must have noticed because what felt like moments later; he was poking her with the tip of his wand again, ordering her to her feet.

It was late. He wanted to go to bed.

She tried to lift herself, but without her arms she fell sideways and hit the floor with a painful thump. Harry’s hand grasped her upper arm and lifted her to her feet jarringly. She felt the now familiar ache in her ribcage as Harry’s wand pushed her into the bedroom.

But as she walked past the kitchen she saw something, sticking out from under one of her cupboard doors which lay on the blue, dust covered tiles. Her wand.

It had been left where she’d dropped it days ago.

She knew she had no chance of making a grab for it then, with Harry’s pressed into her side. He’d curse her before she’d gone two feet and most likely snap the wand in half just to prevent her going looking for it again.

Now was not the right moment. But at least she knew where her weapon lay when the time came for action.

They moved past the kitchen and into the bedroom.

“I have to use the bathroom.” said Hermione through gritted teeth. She knew she had to go then, because she’d learnt that Harry would not get up through the night. He rolled his eyes and pushed her into the bathroom, releasing her hands from their bonds as he did so.

Hermione did her business, as Harry watched on with an air of boredom, his wand trained on her. No matter how many times she’d already done this, she felt more humiliated than she ever had in her life. It was at times like this that keeping her emotions controlled was the hardest.

When she was done, Harry bound her hands again and she re-entered the bedroom. Hermione fell sideways onto the bed, trying to hide her burning face. Moments later, Harry joined her, pushing his body up against her back and draping an arm over her waist as usual.

Hermione did not sleep that night. She listened as Harry begged her forgiveness again but did not bother trying to ask if he’d let her go. She just listened, her heart cold and unfeeling as he sobbed into her back.

Harry’s emotions were so scattered, his actions so changeable that she could barely keep up. One moment he was cold and unemotional, cruel and heartless, and then he was sobbing into her shorn off hair. And this was the most frightening thing about her ordeal, knowing that Harry was not Harry and watching as his mood changed like the wind, hoping that the gale was not directed at her.

But it always was and probably always would be if he took her away.

Suddenly, out of nowhere, the urge to strike came; stronger and more powerful than she’d ever felt it. Determination and defiance charged her brain into electricity. Her heart beat with a rhythm that said, now, now, now, now, now.

It was despicable, really, what she was thinking of doing to him. Harry was weakened, vulnerable… But she didn’t care. She would not be leaving with him. He would feel her rage.

In one jarring and rapid movement, Hermione threw back her arm, allowing her elbow to kick out behind her body. She felt a surge of fierce glee as it connected with Harry’s face.

He let out a yowl of pain and surprise, his hands flying up to cup his broken nose. Blood was gushing out from between his fingers.

Hermione was up in seconds, kneeling beside him. When he saw her he made a mad grab for his wand, which lay on the nightstand, but she was too quick for him. She linked the fingers of her bound hands and, with as much force as she could muster, brought her combined fists down on the side of Harry’s face.

In the midst of his consequential daze, Hermione threw her body across his and felt a savage joy when she felt her fingers wrap around his wand.

But it wasn’t over yet. One of Harry’s blood covered hands wrapped around Hermione’s throat while the other groped for his wand.

She felt his thumb pressing into her oesophagus, constricting the air in her lungs. But she would not allow him to win, would not allow him to take from her what she had gained. As they wrestled with each other on the bed, Hermione brought the wand down and pressed it into his chest. She could not speak with his hand wrapped around her throat and instead thought the curse with all her might, pouring every last drop of her fierce and uncontrollable defiance into it.

Crucio!

Harry screamed and jerked underneath her, almost tipping Hermione off the bed. But she wouldn’t be suppressed. The curse continued for far longer than he’d used it on her and she enjoyed every minute of it. There was something animalistic and satisfying about casting it on someone else, someone who she had a fierce hatred for, and for one totally insane second, Hermione understood why Bellatrix did it.

The thought scared her more than the curse itself and she allowed it to lift. She dispersed the binding charms on her wrists and ankles and leapt up to her feet, off the bed, the wand in her hand trained on its master. He stood slowly, glaring at her like a tiger at its prey.

Only then did Hermione happen to look at the instrument in her hand. She balked as she realised for the first time that it was not the holly and phoenix feather wand. It was white and just a touch longer… It almost looked familiar.

She looked back up at Harry and he grinned cruelly. He raised his arm and held out his hand, as if he expected her to give it back to him. But she needn’t.

To her shock, the wand flew out of her grasp and into Harry’s outstretched palm.

Hermione turned and ran. She did not care why the wand had abandoned her, only that Harry now had a weapon and she did not.

She stumbled into the kitchen, her hand diving under the cupboard door that lay on the floor where she knew her own wand was hiding. She felt her fingers wrap around it and almost sobbed in relief.

She wheeled around just as Harry entered the room, rolling to the side as he cast the torture curse.

The duel began anew.

Hermione parried or dodged each of Harry’s curses and sent back many of her own. There was nothing defensive about her tactics now. She was just as determined to hurt and cripple him as he seemed to be her.

The floor under their feet grew hot as the lights of spell after spell flashed through her flat. Her kitchen and living room were falling into ruin with each rebounded curse.

Hermione fought with a ferocity that she didn’t know she possessed and Harry began to fall back, his face a mask of rage as she forced him backwards into the lounge room and almost up against her balcony door.

Suddenly, just as Harry’s wand slashed through the air and she felt a burning sensation graze her left thigh, the door to her flat burst open.

In poured the tovarasi as one, wands out, and Hermione gave a howl of triumph. The duel was won.

The curses stopped as Harry took in the new additions to the fight. A collective gasp filled the room as her comrades clapped eyes on her attacker then silence reigned.

After a moment, Ginny stepped forward, breaking away from the group. “Harry?” her voice was so small, so hurt, that it broke Hermione’s heart.

Several emotions flitted across Harry’s face, a mingling of agony and indecision, finally coming to rest on disgust. “Come any closer, blood traitor, and I’ll curse you into oblivion.” he growled, raising his wand at Ginny. Blaise stepped forward in front of the red head, wand raised, his dark eyes blazing with fury, but before he could cast, Harry turned away from them. He seemed to decide that it would be unwise to take on ten people at once, flung open her balcony door and disapparated with a crack that echoed through the night.

Hermione stared at the spot he’d just vacated, the adrenaline of the battle coursing through her bloodstream. Sparks flew out the end of her wand as she rounded on the group of people standing, stunned, in her living room.

Ginny crumpled to her knees, and yowled like a wounded animal. Susan flew to her side and wrapped her arms around the sobbing girl.

Confusion reigned as every single one of the tovarasi began firing off questions all at once.

“Was that Harry Potter?!” exclaimed Eli.

“Why was Harry here?!” cried Luna.

“Why didn’t you come?” asked Hermione quietly.

“Hermione, what happened to your hair?” Isobel was near hysteria.

“Why were you duelling?” demanded Padma.

“WHY DIDN’T YOU COME!?” Hermione bellowed, and the tovarasi fell silent. She had meant the question to be directed at the group as a whole but as she yelled, she had eyes only for Malfoy, his pale face shining through the darkness of the room.

“Hermione, you’re bleeding.” said Luna in a small voice. Hermione looked down at where the younger girl was pointing. Sure enough, there was a red stream flowing down her bare leg from a deep gash in her thigh. But she couldn’t feel it. She couldn’t feel anything except her hurt.

Padma rushed forwards and, with shaking hands, pulled out her wand to tend to the wound and Hermione let her.

“What happened?” said Isobel evenly. Hermione could tell that her friend was trying hard to remain calm.

Hermione took a deep breath before she launched into the story of how she’d spent her last two days. She told them of how Harry had arrived at her house on Sunday night, of how she’d promised herself to be there for him and how she’d gone to school the next day and felt guilty for leaving him. She left out her confrontation with Malfoy.

She could not look at her comrades as she spoke, instead choosing to rest her eyes on the space Harry had just disapparated from. With every word she said, Ginny cried harder and Hermione’s hands shook. She didn’t want to say it all out like that, in a rush of words and breath. She wanted them to know how hard she’d tried to stay calm, how she’d only been trying to protect them and that’s why she lied through the door the day before, how monumentally fucked it all was, how she just wanted to crawl up into a ball and cry like a child. But she didn’t. This was a time for strength. Crying hadn’t helped her two days ago and it wouldn’t help her now.

She kept emphasising, mainly for Ginny’s benefit, that Harry wasn’t Harry anymore. There was no lingering sense of the person she’d known anywhere, even the sound of his voice was different.

When she finished, every single person in the room looked scared and confused. Eventually, Blaise spoke, “Do you think it was someone else?”

“What do you mean?” asked Juliet.

“Perhaps it wasn’t Potter, but someone who had taken polyjuice in order to look like Potter.” he clarified.

Hermione made a sceptical noise. She hadn't seen Harry drinking from a flask or anything like that while he was there, but the real giveaway for her was that he’d seemed so disorganised. If someone had taken polyjuice in order to impersonate Harry, they would have had a plan. But Harry had just shown up. What if she’d turned him away? What if they hadn’t fought? No, too much of what had happened was left to chance.

But then, the reality of it hit her. If it was not an imposter, then it was really Harry who’d cursed her, bound her and called her ‘mudblood’. Hermione finally realised that what was happening to her former friend was far from depression, PTSD or anxiety; it was something bigger, more sinister. She knew that really, this had been bleedingly obvious for quite some time now, but she’d never really thought about it properly before then.

So what was wrong with Harry?

“Someone has to call the Aurors.” said Eli.

“What?” demanded Hermione, breaking away from her thoughts, “Why?!”

“Potter is a criminal now, Hermione. He broke the law.” said Isobel and Hermione could see her thirst for revenge in her best friend’s eyes. She nodded her resignation.

“Do you have an owl?” asked Eli.

“I did…” she said quietly, “But we must have broken open his cage while we were duelling a few days ago. I haven’t seen him since. It’s alright though, look.” Hermione held out her wand, “Expecto Patronum.” she whispered, thinking of her freedom. A silver otter burst from its tip and frolicked out of her still open balcony door.

“Was that a patronus?” asked Juliet, slightly awed.

Hermione nodded, “The Order of the Phoenix used them to communicate. I’ve just sent it to McGonagall. I expect the cavalry shall arrive soon.” her voice was hollow and thin as she looked around her destroyed flat. It had been her oasis, her one place that was entirely her own. And now it was a wreck. She didn’t know where she could possibly begin to repair any of the damage.

Susan had led Ginny to Hermione’s couch where the younger girl continued to sob quietly into Susan’s shoulder. Luna joined them. Isobel and Blaise seemed to be making it their job to inspect all of the damage and were wandering freely around her flat looking concerned. Padma was in the kitchen, sounding as if she was foraging for food in the debris covering the floor. Juliet was flitting about the room, lighting candles with her wand. Eli was pacing backwards and forwards in front of her balcony door, scanning the street outside vigilantly.

Only Hermione and Malfoy remained standing where they were. She had not moved since Harry disapparated. He did not seem to be able to look at her.

“Why didn’t you come?” Hermione asked again, quietly, looking at Malfoy.

When he didn’t answer, Ginny finally sniffled and spoke, her voice thick and nasally, “We felt it on Tuesday morning. But it happened really quickly. It was over almost as soon as it began.” Hermione nodded, knowing that this was because she’d been tortured, then stunned. Ginny continued, “It was distant, not very strong. None of us were together, so I guess we didn’t think much of it. Then we felt it again that night. But it was despair. We were all in the library studying. It was really late. Maybe midnight. And we knew… We knew it was you.” Ginny began to cry again.

“So why didn’t you come?” asked Hermione again, tying to keep her own tears at bay.

“The… the feeling wasn’t as urgent as it was with Isobel and Draco…” Ginny trailed off, looking guilt ridden.

“Draco? Draco what?!” demanded Hermione, looking between Ginny and the man in question.

“I told them not to come.” he said quietly, speaking for the first time. Hermione had never seen him look so tortured. His face was an open mask of agony. “I thought you were…”

“Over analysing.” Hermione finished for him, her voice breaking.

She could have been saved, could have been spared the torture she’d experienced over the last two days if not for Malfoy’s assumption. The knowledge made her knees weak.

“Hermione …” his voice cracked. He was crying.

She didn’t know what to say to him. Was it betrayal? Or was he just human and had made a mistake? On the one hand, she wanted to be angry with him, wanted to hate him again; but on the other, she’d pined for him over the last two days and that feeling outweighed all the others. She just wanted him to hug her. But that wasn’t right, was it? She should despise him. But she just couldn’t.

“I’m so sorry.” he sobbed and she could see tears sliding down his pointed face. “I was so stupid. They all wanted to come here but I thought… I thought you were just wallowing. I thought you were being difficult. I’m so sorry.” he hid his face in his hands.

Hermione walked towards him, finally leaving her spot. He tried to push her away when her arms lifted to encircle his neck but she wouldn’t let him. She pressed her body up against his and breathed his familiar scent. His arms hung at his sides. He did not hug her back.

“I’m not going to say it’s ok.” she whispered into his ear, “I won’t tell you I’m not angry. But just being able to do this outweighs it.”

“I don’t deserve it.” he whispered back, his breath hitching at every syllable.

“I don’t care.”

And she kissed him, just because it was the only thing she could think of that she wanted to do. She hadn’t showered or eaten in almost three days, but the only thing that dominated her thoughts was kissing Draco again. She needed the comfort of him right then. Oh, she’d think about Harry later, about all the questions she still had but not when he was so close after she’d thought she’d never be able to see him again.

After a moment, he kissed her back, his arms wrapped around her body and Hermione finally let herself cry, just a little bit. Because she knew she didn’t need to feign strength with Draco. She could be who she was and right then she was broken and damaged and needed him to be broken and damaged with her.

They stood, suspended in this moment for a long time, entirely alone. The room was empty but for them.

Suddenly, several loud cracks echoed through Diagon Alley, breaking the two of them from their stupor.

Hermione looked around and cringed. Eight pairs of eyes were looking at her and Draco with wide eyed, unadulterated shock. Eight pairs that included Isobel’s.

The two women shared a moment. Hermione could see her friend was hurt and she wanted to go to her but Draco didn’t seem inclined to let her go now that he had hold of her again.

“The Aurors are here with McGonagall.” said Eli dimly; still staring at Hermione and Draco in shock but Hermione had eyes only for Isobel.

An unspoken understanding passed between them that said, “Later.”

“I’ll go and meet them.” said Juliet after a moment and then disappeared through Hermione’s front door.

After a few tense minutes, Professor McGonagall and five Aurors Hermione did not know entered her flat with Juliet in tow. Her lounge room was immediately filled with voices, demands and questions as the tovarasi all began trying to tell the story at once.

Finally McGonagall held up a hand, “Silence! Miss Granger. Tell me what happened.”

Hermione took a calming breath, comforted by the fact that Draco had just laid a hand on the small of her back. She told McGonagall, in short, what had passed and as she spoke, the Headmistress looked paler and paler. The Aurors, to their credit, kept their shock and alarm to a minimum though Hermione could still see it was there.

When she reached her conclusion, the older woman put a fluttering hand to the base of her throat, “Potter did this, you say? Harry Potter?” she asked quietly, looking around at the damage to Hermione’s flat.

Hermione nodded. “Don’t ask me why, I don’t know. But I know there’s something very wrong with him. He wasn’t himself, professor.” she noticed as she spoke that it sounded as if she was almost trying to defend him.

“Very well.” said McGonagall faintly.

Hermione was then led into her bedroom by two of the female Aurors who introduced themselves kindly as Watson and McClure. She was forced to retell her story again, in far more detail, as they questioned her ferociously, making a point of asking whether Harry had touched her inappropriately. She assured them he hadn’t, that he had seemed more like he wanted some sort of motherly comfort than anything sexual.

For an hour Hermione sat on her bed, answering their relentless questions, before they allowed her to return to the lounge room where she found the Professor McGonagall had conjured many wooden chairs to seat everybody and a tea tray, laden with tea and biscuits. Hermione fell on it like a ravenous animal. Aside from Draco and her wand, tea had been the one thing she’d missed in the last two days.

The Aurors, the tovarasi and Professor McGonagall continued to talk about the events of the evening, allowing Hermione to eat in peace while Draco sat in a chair beside her, his hand on her knee.

After some time, the headmistress cleared her throat and addressed Hermione again, “Miss Granger, I must insist that you return to Hogwarts.”

It wasn’t a question.

None the less, Hermione shook her head. “No, thank you professor, but I’d like to stay here. This is my home.”

“But it may no longer be safe!” exclaimed the headmistress.

“We can station an Auror or two around the building and put up further protective enchantments if Hermione would rather stay.” said the Auror Watson helpfully, “Wards that would keep Potter out should he choose to return.”

Hermione cringed. They said his name now like he was a criminal when only two hours ago they probably would have raised their drinks in his honour. She felt, somehow, that she was to blame for this and didn’t like it. No matter what Harry had done, he was still a hero. He’d just gotten lost.

“I’ll stay with her.” said Draco firmly, breaking Hermione from her thoughts.

McGonagall seemed about to argue but appeared to decide it was a lost cause. “Well… If you can assure me she will be safe…”

The Auror Watson nodded as did the other four. Hermione sighed gratefully. She didn’t need the probing questions of the students at Hogwarts and, knowing her school, word would get out somehow and there would be questions.

“This is all confidential, isn’t it?” she asked suddenly, looking between the five Aurors. “The public don’t need to know what Harry’s done?”

“We’ll try to keep it as under wraps as we can.” replied the Auror McClure. Somehow, Hermione wasn’t reassured.

She then allowed herself to be examined by a male Auror who introduced himself simply as Tod and was apparently a trained field Healer. He pronounced her to be somewhat dehydrated and ‘in need of a few good feeds’ but otherwise unhurt. His only pause for concern was the cut on her neck which he said had become inflamed but he gave her a balm from a satchel he wore round his shoulders that she could put on it to ease the infection.

Hermione noticed that while she was being examined, Isobel and Ginny had disappeared, only to return when the Aurors, McGonagall and the tovarasi were preparing to leave. She shot the girls a questioning look but they said nothing.

Hermione was hugged and patted on the back while the crowd filed out of her flat.

When they had all gone, making their way up to the Leaky Cauldron to disapparate, Hermione was left standing in her lounge room, again staring around at all the damage that had been done.

Draco appeared at her side. “Don’t think about this now.” he said, “We can deal with it in the morning. Let’s go to bed.”

He took her hand and led her to the bedroom and she discovered what Isobel and Ginny had been doing. The sheets on her bed were changed and the room had been cleaned up so that it now looked as if Harry had never been there.

Hermione began to cry softly. It was strange to believe that those two girls were capable of extending so much kindness to her after what they’d both been through that night. She’d forgotten what kindness felt like.

Draco led to her the bathroom where he turned on the water and, after kissing her forehead, left her to her business. Hermione showered quickly, not liking being alone at all.

When she returned to the bedroom, she felt dazed and disorientated. It all felt so normal, what they were doing. She felt as if she should be a sobbing mess, that she should be out looking for Harry, that she should still be asking questions and screaming at people just to alleviate her feelings. But as Draco pulled back the covers and climbed into bed with her, she found she did not have the energy for all of that. All she wanted was the warm protection of Draco’s embrace.

She cuddled up to his body, resting her head on his arm as he wrapped the other around her protectively. She did not want to sleep with her back to him; she wanted his scent to cocoon her all night.

After a moment, he retrieved his wand from the nightstand and lifted his arm to extinguish the lamps but she stopped him.

“No,” she said quietly, her voice muffled by his chest, “Leave them lit.”

She did not ever want to wake up in the darkness again.

Aranel - Oh I love you lol. Describing Draco as a poor wee lamb. Adorable. Sorry for skipping out on the dubious consent... I sort of wanted to go there, but there are underlying reasons why Harry's being the way he is and it just wouldn't have fit :(

FaeChild - Thanks for the love! Yeah, most of the stuff in the story is inspired by personal experiences, so I think that's why the RL themes come through.

ConjurerOfCheapTricks - Yay! Glad I'm back in civilization too haha. Thanks for the review!

anaidra - Yeah the last one was definitely a tough one to write! Yucky. All over the place. Ick. Glad you liked it though!

Bogarto - Thanks! You kinda hit the nail on the head there didn't you? I'll be interested to see how Draco makes up for his bastardry when Hermione pulls herself back together enough to be mad at him!

Kain - Lol the review on FF was definitely the most awesomest of awesome. I unfortunately can neither confirm nor deny any of your theories lol. But yes, one of my favourite lines in this fic so far was that little speech Harry gave when he said, "I was the highest of priests". Gives me goosebumps because I know EXACTLY what it means! Hehe.

Look forward to your internet breaking review!!!

Talented_Mrs_Lupin - Sorry, can't answer that question yet lol. But you will know the answers... Eventually haha. I hope this update was to your liking!

Tori - I've missed you! I can't really address any of your theories lovely, sorry! But you'll know soon enough. Once again, amazing poetry. Loved it.

Melusine - The happier feels are coming! Just hang in there. Thanks for the love! (and don't worry, I mope too lol)

Cat - Hehe, I hope this chapter answered at least SOME of your questions lovely! xx

Morningsnow - I'm trying to keep this story as absolutely canon as possible. I can't go into detail, but you'll understand soon. I did enjoy my holidays immensely. I hope you enjoyed yours too!!

LadyChaos - Thanks for the love! I hope this chapter answered some of your questions and sorry I couldn't have Draco save her lol. It felt important to me that she actually save herself for once. xx

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