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
- 37
- 38
- 39
CHAPTER 38

OLD, OLD SONG

“While history is outside writing a recipe book for every earthly pain; this song is inside, finger painting dark swirls again and again and they all look the same.”

It started with a breath.

The softest breath.

And there was so much emotion in that breath. It was defeated, sad, tired and wretched. Poor breath.

And that is where Hermione woke, coming out of the other side of the madness that had torn apart her life since she was eleven. She woke in the breath.

But it wasn’t hers.

Slowly, she pushed her mind through her consciousness, urging herself to rise out of sleep. It was harder than it should have been. She’d been asleep for a long time. But she was used to that by then. Trauma did that to her, didn’t it? It knocked her out as surely as a blow to the head. She realised that now. She didn’t fear it anymore.

Hermione’s eyelids flickered like her awareness. Her mind flickered.

But through all of the fog and flickering light in her head, one fact prevailed over all others, one that would not be suppressed by sleep: Voldemort was dead. There was no question now, no uncertainty. The Dark Lord was no longer a part of their world. Hermione allowed herself to roll that idea around in her mind for a while as she lay there, her eyes closed, until she began to take in what else she could of her present.

She knew she was in a bed. And it was a hard, unforgiving, institutional kind of bed. Not her own.

The room was dark when her eyes finally opened, sliced by moonlight filtering through the blinds of a window. Her flat didn’t have blinds. She turned her head a little to see.

There was someone sleeping in a chair beside her institutional bed and suddenly, Hermione became almost sick with yearning at the sight of them. Was it Ron? Was he there, as he’d always been, at her side and taking care of her? Or was it Draco? Did his devotion, his love for her, extend past his betrayal?

Hermione groaned because she could not speak. And if she could, she didn’t know what to say. How did one sum up everything that had taken place? What questions was she supposed to ask when the only two that blossomed in her mind were…

How many people had lost their lives this time? And was Voldemort really gone for good?

At her groan, the figure shifted and a familiar curtain of blonde hair glinted in the moonlight.

Of course. Isobel. Her best friend. Her soul mate.

The tears were there then and she suddenly realised she’d been crying the whole time, she just hadn’t been aware of it. Her mind was so detached from her body…

Isobel lifted her head, but Hermione could not see her face, silhouetted as she was against the moonlight.

“Hermione?” she asked urgently, standing and rushing over to the bed. With a flick of her wand, the lamps were lit, bathing the two girls in a golden glow. “Hermione, are you alright?!”

“Where… Where am I?” Hermione rasped with a huge amount of effort. Despite her detachment, she needed answers, she needed information.

“St Mungos.” Isobel replied.

“How long?”

“Three days.”

Hermione nodded. She’d thought as much. As she became more and more conscious, she began to remember all of the other questions she should be asking, all the other information she needed to know.

“Harry?”

Isobel sighed and Hermione felt her heart drop out of her chest and land wetly on the floor.

“He’s… he’s in a coma. They don’t know why.” the younger girl ran a hand through her hair and Hermione knew the blunt truth was coming, she knew Isobel well enough by then. “They’re not holding out much hope, Hermione.”

She cried for a long time then and Isobel’s thumb ran circles on the back of her hand as she held it.

Hermione had known that it might end with her death, maybe even with Harry’s, but the reality was so much more devastating than that knowledge. It still felt like failure if Harry died…

“Ginny’s alright though…” said Isobel quietly after a while, “She had a few, uh, lacerations on her wrists… We think because of the blood magic… But otherwise she’s ok.”

“Ron?” asked Hermione, her voice thick.

“Well… As good as can be expected… pretty torn up. He’s a good guy though. He’ll be alright in the end I think.” Isobel replied kindly.

“Draco?”

Isobel shifted uncomfortably, “We… We haven’t seen him since that night… The rest of the tovarasi have been here every day but Draco… He’s gone.”

Hermione nodded again. She’d expected that, expected that he’d run. He was just as talented at that as she was. That’s why they’d been so good together. But it still hurt to know that he wasn’t being there for people he’d called his friends. That’s what loyalty should have been about, sticking around for the people you loved even when it got hard. And Hermione didn’t understand what had happened to him because he’d been like that once, he’d stuck around to help no matter what the group was going through. What was it that made that just disappear? Had it gotten too hard?

If she was honest with herself, she could understand entirely if that was the case. She probably would have run away from the Dark Lord if she’d had the choice. But then there was the difference between them; when it came to combating the dark arts and fighting for freedom, Hermione would act like she had no choice, even if she did… and Draco would act like he had a choice, even if he didn’t. She’d always stay and he’d always run. But it had come to the point now that Hermione didn’t really know which was the saner option. Did the majority dictate that? Because the tovarasi had stuck around to help Harry. And if they hadn’t, she’d probably be dead and so would he. He might be as good as dead already…

“I want to see Harry.” she suddenly.

Isobel started at her sudden outburst, “Hermione, I don’t think that’s…”

But she wasn’t listening. Hermione tried to hoist herself up on her arms only to be suddenly crippled by an excruciating throbbing pain shooting up from her wrists to her shoulders. She cried out and fell back on the bed.

“Oh shit…” said Isobel, looking down at Hermione’s arms.

Hermione lifted them into the moonlight. They were covered in bandages… Bandages that were rapidly turning red.

“What the fuck?!” she cried in shock.

Isobel had begun to cry as she leapt to her feet. “I… I have to get the healer!!”

“Isobel what the fuck happened to my arms?!” Hermione demanded, her voice cracking. She reached out and seized Isobel’s wrist, though it was agony, to force her friend to answer the question.

The younger girl began to sob, trying to pull away, “The… the protective enchantments… they burnt you Hermione! Please let me go and get the healer! You’re bleeding everywhere!!”

Hermione let her go and, as Isobel raced from the room, lifted her head to look at the rest of her body. She threw back the sheet and howled in anguish. Her whole body was covered with the same bandages… Her whole body…

Three healers suddenly burst into the room, followed by Isobel, Ron and Ginny.

“Miss Granger! LAY DOWN!” cried one of the healers frantically. “You’ve gone and torn open all the wounds!”

“NO! What happened to me?! What happened to my body?!” Hermione shouted, trying to shift some of the bandages on her stomach. She just wanted to see. She needed to see the evidence of the burns…

“Hermione! You need to lay down!” yelled Ron, moving to tower above her. “With every movement, you’re making it worse!”

One of the other healers appeared in her line of vision, holding a vial. “Miss Granger, drink this please!” she said in a brisk, businesslike tone.

“No! I want to be awake! I won’t let you drug me!” Hermione hissed hysterically, pushing the healer’s hand away.

Ron snatched the vial from the woman’s hand and glared at her before looking down at Hermione. She watched his eyes as they flickered between both of hers.

“Lay down.” he said, softly but firmly. Hermione didn’t move for a moment and he laid his hands on her shoulders. Eventually, she allowed him to push her gently onto her back. He lifted a hand to brush over her hair, the look on his face tired and loving. “Please drink it Hermione, ok? It’ll help. Trust me.”

After a moment, she nodded and allowed him to tip the contents of the vial into her mouth. She immediately felt groggy.

“I’ll tell you everything tomorrow.” said Ron quietly.

Hermione trusted him. She allowed herself to sleep, vaguely aware of the healers bustling around her bed, of the bandages being cut off and of a vague, stinging pain.

For three weeks after that, Hermione was confined to her St Mungos bed.

The healers had told her that the burns on her arms, worse than anywhere else on her body, would scar, but assured her that even those would fade in time. By the time she was ready to be discharged, her legs and torso were back to normal, but she wouldn’t be wearing short sleeves again anytime soon. The skin of her hands and arms looked like it had aged fifty years and was extra sensitive to any kind of touch, the nerves raw.

Just as Ron had promised, he had come to her the morning after she’d woken up and told her everything. He’d told her about Harry mostly, and what the healers were trying to do for him to get him to wake up. Though, of course, Hermione had thought that they could be doing more.

He told her about how the battle had looked from their perspective, how they had simply watched her moving about the apparently empty street, her face a mask of awe. Then there was that blinding vision when she’d willed them to see what she’d been seeing, and how they’d moved into her protective sphere. Ron’s voice echoed the desperation he’d felt when Hermione had risen out of their cage, how Draco had had the idea to give them the Zeitei Otrava so that they could help, how it had worked for the rest of the tovarasi because of the bond but it hadn’t worked for Ron, who said that it was one of the worst things he’d ever put in his mouth. She could understand that. It was, after all, the essence of her and Draco…

Hermione found herself caught up in worry over the legal implications of what had taken place. Would Harry go to Azkaban? Would she? They had both broken the law, both had used forbidden dark magic. And what of Teodora and the tovarasi? Teodora who had given them the magic and the tovarasi who had gone against the Minister’s wishes.

But Ron, as usual, soothed her out of these worries too. The Minister seemed willing to turn a blind eye to their doings, given the result, just as he had done after the final battle. Though, unfortunately, Harry would have to stand trial if he ever woke. But with Hermione’s statement of all that taken place, Ron felt sure that he would not be charged.

The final question Hermione had, was for Ginny, though Ron answered that too. She wanted to know how the younger girl had come to be in Harry’s company to begin with. And the answer was remarkably simple. Harry had appeared on Hermione’s balcony very late at night, clothed in the invisibility cloak and had used the imperius curse on his former girlfriend. No one knew why he needed Ginny, why he had not targeted Hermione when he had appeared to thirst for her blood far more… But these were all questions that would have to be answered when Harry woke… If he woke.

After that conversation, Hermione’s flow of visitors was steady and unrelenting. Sometimes she minded this, sometimes she did not. The tovarasi were her most frequent, excluding Draco of course, who had not been seen or heard from in weeks. Other than them, she’d seen Teodora who’d been proud, Professor McGonagall who’d been almost beside herself and Kingsley Shacklebolt who’d come to take her statement regarding Harry’s ordeal and had then spent a good hour ranting at her about the irresponsibility of her actions. She’d also seen the Weasleys, all of them. Bill had come by with Fleur and Charlie briefly, George had sat by her bed for almost an entire day making her laugh as he showcased a range of new Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes products; and Molly and Arthur had come to thank her profusely for saving their daughter and see how she was doing. Molly seemed normal again, which made Hermione’s heart glow. It seemed that the new threat, of which the Weasley’s had been more informed of than she’d thought, had snapped Molly out of her funk. Hermione was glad to have helped, but sad that it had taken so much.

And so it was that three long weeks almost to the day since the night in Privet Drive, Hermione found herself striding out of the hospital purposefully. The tovarasi had wanted to join her, but Hermione had refused. She’d told them all, including Ron, Teodora and McGonagall, that she wanted to be left well alone for a while. It had been her first and only brief visit to Harry that had forced her to that decision. Seeing him lying there, still as death, his chest barely moving with his breath, had made her feel that her work was far from done. Harry still hadn’t been saved.

Hermione apparated not back to her flat that day, but to Hogwarts. She strode up the lawn and into the school purposefully, ignoring any calls of greeting or questions from the students or teachers. She emerged only a short time later clutching a piece of parchment.

It was then that she apparated back to Diagon Alley, only stopping by her flat briefly to pick up the heaviest cloak she owned, the one that would conceal her the best. As an afterthought, she cast a few glamour charms on her face, changing the colour of her eyes and darkening her skin. Anyone who knew her would see through the ruse easily, but she didn’t plan on seeing anyone she knew.

Hermione pulled her hood over her face as she strode back out onto the street and turned right. The entrance to Knockturn Alley loomed her vision and, without a backward glance, she slipped inside.

It was just as she’d remembered it. The air was heavy and hard to breath in, the crowds and the stench pushed in on her from all directions. But she did not feel fear this time. She had a purpose from which she would not be swayed.

When a hand grabbed onto her wrist, Hermione did not hesitate to whip out her wand and cast a fast Repulsio. She would not be detained. The hand let go instantly.

Hermione quickly found the shop front she was looking for and a pouch of gold jingled temptingly in her hand as she entered and approached the shop keeper. He looked at her with a hard, critical eye and Hermione pushed a piece of parchment towards him.

“Find me all of these things and it will be worth your while.” she said lowly, allowing the pouch of galleons to bang against her arms invitingly.

The bedraggled shop keep swept up the piece of parchment, his beetle like eyes sweeping across it quickly. They widened slightly at what they saw.

“An’ wha’ if I don’t?” he grunted.

Hermione let the tip of her wand peek out from the folds of her cloak. “We’ll talk about that when you’ve refused me.” she growled.

The man looked at her wand tip for a moment before nodding stiffly and disappearing into the back of his shop. He emerged some minutes later with a wooden chest, which clunked loudly as he set it down on the counter.

“Fifty galleons.” he grunted.

Hermione snorted and tucked the chest under her arm, throwing the pouch onto the counter. “There’s thirty. Enjoy the rest of your day.”

“Now look here, friend…!!” exclaimed the man.

She rounded on him, her wand again pointing out of the folds of her cloak. “Do you really want to try to wrought me, friend? You know what these are used for. And you know what kind of people use them. Don’t be so foolish!”

The man glared at her for a moment before nodding stiffly, “Didn’t mean no offence Madam. Good day to you.”

Hermione strode out of the dank and musty shop without a backward glance. She kept her head down and her hand wrapped around the wand in her pocket as she moved through the crowds.

Eventually, she burst out of Knockturn Alley and into the sunlight that hung over Diagon Alley, instantly feeling as if she could breathe easier. She walked briskly back up to her flat and once inside, dropped the box onto her coffee table.

From a cupboard in the kitchen, Hermione pulled out the cazan Draco had given to her. She set it next to the box, pulled off her cloak and rolled up her sleeves.

It was time to start brewing.

“How can I help you, miss Granger?” asked the Welcome Witch in a politely vacant voice as Hermione approached the front desk at St Mungos late that night.

“I need to see Harry Potter.” Hermione replied, shifting her beaded bag on her shoulder.

“Ah… I’m sorry but visiting hours are over.” said the girl apologetically.

“Well, if I see any visitors, I’ll let them know.” said Hermione, striding past the front desk and down the corridor.

The Welcome Witch did not make any attempt to argue, all the better for her, as Hermione mounted the stairs. She did not need to be directed to Harry’s room.

When she reached it, she was glad to see that he was alone, still in the same state. He had not moved in three weeks.

“Hi Harry.” said Hermione softly when she entered the room. She closed the door behind her and tapped the lock with her wand. She did not want to be interrupted. “I’ve brought something for you.”

Hermione went to sit by his bed, conjuring a table beside her on which she lay her beaded bag. From it she withdrew the cazan, magically shielded so that none of the potion could escape.

“I know that this isn't really responsible… and I’m breaking so many laws right now. But you wouldn’t mind that would you? You never did… I just have to do something, Harry. I’m sick of watching these stupid healers scratch their heads and do nothing.” she whispered as she began to pull more objects from her bag, “And I can’t have you not waking up. That’s not how it’s supposed to end, Harry. It’s just not.”

Hermione banished the charm holding the potion in the cazan as it sat on the table, and took up a small silver dagger.

“I’m sorry if this hurts.” she said as she lifted Harry’s hand in her own scarred one. She held it over the cazan and pressed the dagger into one of his fingertips. Nine drops of his blood fell into the potion before Hermione tapped his finger with her wand and the bleeding stopped.

The potion turned from the clear, water like substance it had been, to the brightest, shimmering blue. Hermione ladled some of it into a goblet.

“This is the Rusine potion Harry. And I’m going to give it to you because I know you. And I know that you sleep because you feel shame. I know what that shame feels like. This will help.” The tears slid down her cheeks quietly as she spoke and lifted the goblet to Harry’s mouth which she used her other hand to pull open.

With the aid of her wand, the potion slid down his throat.

Hermione sat back and sighed. She did not expect anything to happen immediately, the Rusine took a long time to work…

But just as she had begun to pack up her things, putting another shield around the cazan, planning to deposit the potion into more easily carried vials when she got home, Harry let out a long breath, like a sigh and was still again.

Hermione’s head snapped up and she stood, leaning over Harry’s face. Her eyes rushed over his features, trying to note any change. “Harry?! Can you hear me?!” she whispered urgently.

There was no response, but as Hermione left the wizarding hospital minutes later, bound once again, for home, she smiled. She knew it would work.

For three weeks after that, Hermione visited Harry every night. The Welcome Witch had stopped even asking when she strode through the front doors late every evening.

She fed Harry the Rusine potion diligently, always making sure that he swallowed every drop and every time, the same sigh would escape from his chest after his dose.

No one knew she did this, except the Welcome Witch, who Hermione had paid to remain silent on the subject. The only other person who knew, though Hermione had never told her, was Teodora from whom Hermione had procured the recipe all those weeks ago.

Every time they saw each other, Teodora would only ask, “How is Harry?” to which Hermione would reply, “Getting better.” and that was it.

She remained always slightly withdrawn from the rest of the tovarasi. Not enough for them to take serious note, but enough to keep her own comfort. She wasn’t falling back into depression as she once would have, but she craved her own company and this was something new. She wanted to be with her thoughts, did not want to distract anymore. She wanted to become comfortable with herself. And the only way she could think to do that was to seek out her own company as often as possible.

One night, towards the end of may, Hermione sat by Harry’s bed, thinking. Having just given him his dosage, there was no more reason for her to be there, but for some reason, she was taking some comfort in his presence that night. Ginny had reported to her days earlier that Harry’s fingers had been twitching. She allowed herself to hope that he was more aware than he was before…

“I don’t really know where to go from here, Harry.” she was saying, her head resting on the bed next to his hand. “There’s no more school now is there? I have to start to think about what I want to do for the rest of my life… And I don’t know that I want to live in my flat anymore. It feels like… Like that part of my life is over. Do you know what I mean? Maybe… Maybe I could go back to the Burrow. Molly’s better now, you should see her. She cooks again. And Ron’s there too, he’s talking to me again… And Ginny’s alright. She’s scared I think, but she loves you. And she misses you…” Hermione’s head collapsed down onto her arms. “Oh, Harry! I wish you were here. I wish you could tell me what to do…”

Hermione fell into silence as her mind continued on with the conversation. Of course, Harry did not move or respond, but she didn’t expect him to.

Moments later, her head snapped up as the lock on the door clicked and it swung open. Hermione knew no danger could reach her in St Mungos, not now anyway, but her hand found her wand all the same.

Someone stepped into the room and for a moment, she couldn’t make them out at all, their body silhouetted against the blinding light of the corridor. But then she knew, her heart beating like a war drum in her chest.

“What are you doing here, Draco?” she asked tiredly, trying to keep her tumultuous emotions from showing in her voice.

“I was looking for you.” he replied softly, stepping into the room and closing the door behind him.

“Why?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair, “Well… I thought that given everything we’ve been through and… and what we had, it didn’t seem to do any of it justice to just never speak again. Even though I know that’s what you want.”

“I don’t know what I want.” said Hermione quietly. Draco did not respond. Instead, he stood at the end of Harry’s bed, looking down at his hands. After a moment, she spoke again, “Why now? You’ve been gone for weeks, no one’s heard from you. Where have you been? The tovarasi needed you…”

Draco had the good grace to look guilty. “I know… I know… I should have stayed. But, I’ve had some time to think now. A lot of things have become clear to me lately. And I wanted to say that I’m sorry for everything I did.”

There was no plea in his tone, he was not offering a ‘please forgive me’ kind of sorry. And Hermione found she liked that. She liked that he was finally offering something of himself without any expectations of what he’d get in return. But that didn’t change what he’d already done unfortunately.

“Can you offer any explanation for your actions?” asked Hermione seriously.

“Yes and no. Not one that you’d understand I don’t think.”

“Try.”

Draco sighed again, “Well it all kind of escalated didn't it? That night we found the memory, well, I was just scared. Scared of the Dark Lord and scared that I’d lose you to the fight. Not that you’d die or anything, just that you’d forget me while you were off saving the world. I know how selfish that sounds… I just… I felt like I’d finally found something good, something that made my life just a little bit better and I didn’t want to lose it. But then I thought that if I went with you, the Dark Lord would kill me. And he tried didn’t he? So I was trying to decide what was worth more… My life or yours. Should have been an easy decision really. But it wasn’t.”

Hermione’s mind was reeling with what he was saying. He was both confirming her worst fears about him, but she also admired his honesty. “And what about what you said that night in Privet Drive?”

Draco looked less comfortable then. He couldn’t look at her when he spoke. “I’m a Slytherin, Hermione. I’m drawn to power and when you were there like that, and I knew that you had the Dark Lord inside you, I could feel it radiating off you, all I could think of was what you could do to the world, of the power you wielded. I didn’t think of all the people who would be oppressed or tortured or killed, I just thought of what we could gain… It was… An ugly moment. And I’m glad you could defeat that within yourself. It makes me admire you more than words can communicate.”

Hermione looked at him for a long time, could understand what he meant perfectly. She knew exactly what that felt like. “Alright.” she said, “I accept your apology, Draco. I get it.”

“Thank you.” he said, sighing in what sounded like relief. After a moment of awkward silence in which he seemed to debate with himself about whether to leave or stay, he spoke. “I also have something I wanted to show you…”

“What is it?”

Draco did not answer. Instead, he shrugged off his cloak and unbuttoned the right cuff of his shirt. Hermione stared on in confusion until he pulled his sleeve up and bared his forearm to her. His unmarked forearm. He looked up at her expectantly.

“What am I supposed to be seeing here, Draco?” she asked wearily.

As an answer, he unbuttoned the cuff of the left sleeve and pulled that up too. He then stood, baring both pale, unblemished arms to her and finally, it clicked.

“The Dark Mark is gone.” she whispered, her hand fluttering against her cheek.

He nodded.

“So that means…?” she breathed.

“The Dark Lord is really gone.” he finished for her. “I thought you should know.”

There were a few moments of silence then and Hermione looked at Harry. His fingers had begun to twitch so she put her hand over his, hoping that it could provide some comfort to him in what dream he was having. She hoped desperately then that he would wake up, so that she could share that news with him, so that he could finally lay that part of his life to rest.

“Will he be alright?” asked Draco, after a minute, his eyes following her own.

“Yes.” she said with conviction. “He gets better every day.”

“And are you alright, Hermione?”

She smiled slightly, “Yes. I’m fine. Surprisingly. Not distracting anymore.”

“That’s good.” said Draco.

Hermione turned to look at him again, to take in his appearance, his aura. He looked slightly dishevelled in his immaculate black robes. His face paler, more pointed that she remembered. But, she realised then, no matter how sick or disturbed he looked, no matter what he’d done, he was still beautiful to her.

“I’ve been thinking.” she said slowly, deciding to say it out loud, “About us.”

“Oh?”

“It’s like you said… After everything we’ve been through, everything we had, it feels wrong to just let it go. I feel like… Like maybe we should fight for it.”

Draco frowned. “Really? You think you can forgive me for everything that’s happened?”

Hermione buried her face in her hands, “I don’t know. I really don’t know… On the one hand I so want this with you Draco, I want a life. But at the same time, I feel… unsafe. I don’t know if I could ever believe that you wouldn’t betray me again if your own skin was in jeopardy.”

To her alarm, Draco came then to kneel next to her chair. It scared her because it almost felt like it hurt her more, the closer he was. He took one of her hands in his and the contact of their skins made Hermione’s chest ache.

“I think I might be able to make this easier for you, Hermione,” he said quietly, his eyes shining glassily with tears. He put her hand over his heart so that she could feel it beating under her palm. “I would give you this, my pulse, my breath, if I thought it might be useful to you. But it’s not. I will never love you like Weasley does.”

Hermione balked. “What?! What does Ron have to do with us?!” she exclaimed in confusion yanking her hand away.

“He loves you. Unconditionally. The things he’s done for you…”

Hermione resisted the temptation to scoff. “What exactly do you think he’d done for me that makes him deserve my love?! He left! Just like you did!”

Draco grimaced. “I know but… He… He left for different reasons. Better reasons.”

“And how in the hell would you know what his reasons were?!” demanded Hermione indignantly.

Draco shook his head and stood, walking away from her. “The point is, what I feel is… is shallow compared to him! He knows what love is, he was brought up with it. But I don’t. You’ve… you’ve helped me in that. But you deserve better than me, than what I can offer you.”

Hermione stared at him, her eyes wide, “Do you love me, Draco?”

He did not answer.

She sank back into her chair, her hand falling over her heart. It was breaking. He was right. Of course he was right.

Draco was crying as he took up his cloak and pulled it on. He walked towards the door but Hermione did not want him to leave and so she opened her mouth and asked the only question that came unbidden to her mind, if only to keep him talking.

“Draco?” he turned back towards her, “Your cloak. It’s enchanted… I could see when I took the potion… Why?”

He smiled sadly and took out his wand. “Don’t hate me.” he said.

His wand swept across his body and the cloak seemed to shift, engulfing his body in thick black smoke.

When the smoke cleared, Hermione gasped. There, before her, stood Draco still, but hiding behind a Death Eater mask, in Death Eater robes.

“Why?” she breathed.

“Because it is the last remnant I have of my father, of the life that I chose for myself before the world fell.”

His wand moved again and the robes disappeared, morphing back into the same black cloak that she knew so well.

“You never really changed, did you?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Only as much as you did.” Draco replied. He looked at her for a moment, smiling softly before he turned around and strode out of the room, leaving Hermione alone but for Harry’s sleeping form.

She slumped forward on the bed and sobbed, for everyone and everything and for herself. It was all so much more real now than it was before. Her thoughts about Draco prior to that night had been bordering on assumptions. Of course, the things he did spoke loudly about his feelings but she realised she’d never really believed any of it until then. She’d just enjoyed being angry. But maybe a tiny part of her had thought that it would all work out, that he’d make some grand gesture and come back and she’d forgive him and they’d be happy again.

But those fantasies were nothing more than a smouldering pile of ash now. He’d made sure of that.

I’ll never love you like Weasley does… What I feel for you is shallow compared to him…

So that was that. There was no argument anymore. The choice had been made.

Hermione would not run after him, she was too proud for that, she would not beg. She would accept his beliefs, his decisions. Because she knew what love was. Love was selfish. Love meant that you stayed with someone even if you knew you were bad for them, even if you thought they could do better, because being apart from them would just hurt far too much. There was nothing noble about it and any fantasy story or movie that said otherwise was just glossing over a cold, hard truth. No one ever walked away from the person they loved for noble reasons. This was humanity. And humanity wasn’t like that.

If Draco had really loved her, he would have stayed. And so, therefore, he did not.

Her hand remained on Harry’s, which still twitched under her palm, as she cried. The acceptance of those facts would not stop her pain, would not ease the heartbreak. Draco had said that she deserved better, but Hermione did not know what she deserved. All she knew was that she would not run to Ron after this. She didn’t want to be with him right then. She didn’t want to be with anyone. The thought alone of anyone other than Draco touching her was repulsive and wrong. Sure, she loved Ron, and in the last few days she had come to think that maybe, maybe, she might still be in love with him, but he wasn’t going to be her bandaid. Too many people had played that role in her life already.

“Hermione?”

Her head snapped up towards the door, her heart leaping, thinking Draco had returned to take it all back. To make her whole again. But there was no one there.

Slowly her head turned toward the person who’s hand she held.

Harry’s eyes were open.

A/N Ah!! So many reviews! I woke up yesterday morning with about 30 emails and I'm not going to lie, I may have cried a bit. Thank you all so much! Keep them coming! We're so close to the end...

Now. Down to business. A few of you (and when I say 'few' I mean pretty much fucking everyone lol) have been expressing some concern over whether this is going to end up being a Ron/Hermione story! I have a few things to say to this...

1. I said it's a Dramione, didn't I? Trust, my lovelies, trust.

2. My understanding of a "main pairing" (and here, I am merely pointing out what I know and promise you that I am making absolutely NO allusions to the ending of Victim of the Fall) is that it is dictated by whichever couple gets the most, uh, 'screen time'. So in my mind, this story IS a Dramione, considering that the majority of it has been about their relationship. Even if, in the end, she ends up with Ron or no one or (as a rather colourful reviewer stated) the fucking giant squid. It's still Dramione.

3. We've still got another THREE chapters to go! And I'm hardly going to come out and tell you the ending now, am I? So feel free to stop reading if the suspense is too much. But if not, I hope you enjoy the rest of it!

Much love,

Desdemona

kain - TWO WORDS: FUCKING SKYPE. Then drinking will be had!

anaidra - The faith you have in me is so lovely :D xx

Bogarto - I think that the really sad part is, he did kind of redeem himself by giving the Zeitei Otrava to the tovarasi so that they could all help, But then he just went and fucked it didn't he? *sigh*... But Draco's human. And so's Hermione. There are so many other factors to the story and to their relationship aside from the betrayal. Think of those. We all know THEY will be...

Aranel - Ok so for the first half of your review I was sad and wanted to give you a hug. But then the last line had me in stitches! So thanks for that!!

Mara - Hello my little first time reviewer! So glad you're enjoying the story!! Thanks for the love :D

lisha - Lol you're trying to guilt trip me aren't you?! WELL IT'S NOT GOING TO WORK! *evil grin*

tori - AH! Tori! You're back!!! Hehe I love you too. I checked out your deviantart and HOLY HELL are you amazing! Seriously. You're doing what you're meant to be doing, babe. And I'm so sorry you've had a hard couple of months. Sending lots of love and light your way xx

tabitoo - Don't give up hope just yet!

DB1 - Thanks so much! And I have done as you requested! Updates will certainly be far more frequent now that we're sliding down that slippery slope towards the end...

Green_Eyed_Mist - SEE KAIN'S REVIEW RESPONSE! xx

kit - Not a Romione, don't worry! As to your other queries... Well... You know I can't answer any of it just yet lol :D

Cat - First off, I hope your vacation was FABULOUS of course... I need one too lol. As for Draco... Well, he kind of just made it all null and void then, didn't he?

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