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
- 39
- 40
- 41
CHAPTER 40

32 FLAVOURS

“I am a poster girl with no poster, I am 32 flavours and then some.”

Two weeks later, Hermione found herself sitting on her couch one afternoon, reading. Crookshanks lay purring at her feet and her balcony doors were flung open, allowing the warm breeze to drift lazily through her flat.

She was relaxed, happy. The truth of Blaise’s statements the day they’d left St Mungos together, was more and more obvious as the time passed. Harry had left the hospital with a full bill of health and though he, Ron and the rest of the tovarasi visited her regularly, the silence had indeed hit just as Blaise had predicted. And once she had nothing else to occupy her mind, Hermione had felt that old, familiar depression sinking into her life again.

But this time she’d done something different. On the 13^th of April, Hermione went with Blaise to her first appointment with her mind healer, a jovial older woman called Maya whom Hermione had loved almost instantly. The woman was easy to talk to, she spoke Hermione’s language.

Afterwards, her and Blaise had gone for coffee in a little muggle cafe and she’d been happy to hear that he felt just as cheerful after his session and liked his new mind healer just as much.

The exercise had helped them. She’d felt lighter afterwards and surprisingly, that lightness stayed with her over the following days and by the time the depression started to come back again, she’d had another appointment.

She’d realised in that time, that this was life. And she was actually doing it properly for once. Her mind healer was teaching her to accept herself in every moment, to realise that she was perfect and exactly where she needed to be. Even when she was doing something ugly, like panicking or being stubborn or unforgiving.

Hermione Granger was made up of her flaws as well as her good qualities, just as everyone else was. She could always work to better herself but she’d given up on constantly striving for a phantom idea of perfection. Maya told Hermione that she’d already met her highest self, in her good moments, and to strive for anything more was a vacant dream. And Hermione lived by that now.

In the intervening weeks, Hermione had heard nothing from Draco but had been pleased to learn that he was talking again to Blaise and Eli regularly and even, apparently, Luna. Hermione was just happy that he wasn’t shutting himself off to them, that he was still acknowledging himself as a member of the tovarasi, even if it was from a distance.

It was nice though, she found, spending a couple of weeks doing nothing much other than eating, sleeping or reading. Sometimes she didn’t even do any of that, instead she’d just lie in the sun and watch the dust moats, imagining that they were moving through the air along with the music pouring out of her record player.

On this particular afternoon, Hermione had just finished a late lunch of cold pizza and éclairs and had sunk back into her couch to read. Following the advice of Maya, Hermione had just started the first fiction novel she’d read in years. Almost ever since she’d arrive at Hogwarts when she was eleven, she’d only read nonfiction. It was time for a change.

Perfume by Patrick Suskind sat in her lap. She opened the front cover…

In eighteenth-century France there lived a man who was one of the most gifted and abominable personages in an era that knew no lack of gifted and abominable personages. His story will be told here. His name was Jean-Baptiste Grenouille, and if his name – in contrast to the names of other gifted abominations, de Sade’s, for instance, or Saint Just’s, Fouche’s, Bonaparte’s etc. – has been forgotten today, it is certainly not because Grenouille fell short of those most famous backguards when it came to arrogance, misanthropy, immorality, or, more succinctly, wickedness, but because his gifts and his sole ambition were restricted to a domain that leaves no traces in history: to the fleeting realm of scent…

Perhaps Hermione had chosen the wrong book for her first foray into fiction. She set it down in her lap and tipped her head backwards to rest of the back of the couch. What was a ‘gifted abomination’? Was that Voldemort? Or her? Suskind has described it as someone who was arrogant, who loathed humanity, who was immoral and wicked. Hermione was most certainly arrogant and in her darkest hours, yes she loathed humanity. And though she couldn’t really ever classify herself as immoral, the things she’d let Draco do to her naked body had made her feel wicked.

These thoughts confused her a little. She wasn’t saddened by them really, just kind of reflective. They made her sigh.

Hermione chucked the book onto the table where it flopped onto the wood. She’d only gotten one paragraph in and already she was questioning her own humanity. It was all too heavy for a lazy Thursday afternoon. She stood, stretched, and made her way into the kitchen to make tea. The kettle sat on the stove, warming over the heat as she stood and stared out of her balcony window, her mind wandering off pleasantly.

It snapped back however at a knock on her door.

“Come in! It’s unlocked!” she called from the kitchen and grinned when Ron appeared in the archway. “Hey!” she exclaimed brightly. “Want some tea?”

“No, thanks.” his tone was slightly clipped and his hands did not seem to be able to remain still.

“What’s wrong?” she frowned, “Is everything alright?”

“Yes… No… Yes.” he stammered.

Hermione giggled, “Well come on, out with it.”

Ron moved forward and took the kettle off the heat. “No. I, uh, I’d like you to come with me. I have to show you something.”

“What?”

“Just… Please come. Now.”

Without waiting for an answer, he disappeared into the lounge room and returned moments later with her wand and beaded bag. “Here. Let’s go.”

“Ron! I’m in my pyjamas!” she said, laughing indignantly and gesturing down at her slightly dishevelled quidditch jersey.

Ron looked her up and down indifferently. “Doesn’t matter.” he moved forwards and grasped her hand, dragging her from the flat.

“Ron! Where are we going?!” she demanded as they tripped down the spiral staircase.

“You’ll see.”

He refused to answer any more of her questions as they moved out into Diagon Alley. Hermione stared intently down at the cobblestones as they moved, careful not to tread on anything that might harm her bare feet.

Once they reach the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron, he held tight her hand and turned them into darkness. Hermione barely had time to comprehend what was happening before her feet landed on soft grass. She opened her eyes and blinked dazedly in the sunlight. A familiar structure stood a little way down the hill she found herself on. The sight of her made her stomach churn a little.

“Why did you bring me here?” she asked quietly.

Hermione had not been back to the Burrow since the night her and Ginny had come to get Ron over two months ago. And she had not been close to it since she’d left to go to Hogwarts. It was a blow to find herself suddenly staring down at it, unprepared as she was. She’d identified the house and the land that surrounded it as a trigger with her mind healer, meaning that it was something that scared her because of the bad memories that clung to it like miasma. To come back so suddenly, when she hadn’t even been given a chance to talk or think about it had thrown her.

“I have something to show you.” Ron repeated and set off down the hill towards the house.

Hermione followed reluctantly, stepping lightly through the grass. She was grateful for her bare feet then, it felt like the contact she had with the earth was helping her to keep grounded. She wasn’t going to deny that the environment was beautiful, it always had been what with the green rolling hills, the breeze that blew this way and that as if it’s intent was to caress every inch of her exposed skin and the brilliant blue of the sky…

What would Maya say if she were here? Accept it. Make the best of the situation. Accept that the memories were going to be there and the bad feelings were going to come and that’s was ok. The universe never threw anything at her that she couldn’t handle.

And so, Hermione took a deep, refreshing breath of the clean country air and slowed from the brisk pace she’d been adopting to keep up with Ron. He turned around when she dropped behind him.

“What are you doing?” he asked in confusion, sounding vaguely annoyed.

“Strolling.” Hermione responded, smiling.

Ron seemed on the brink of rolling his eyes before he sighed and mirrored her pace. They walked in silence as she took in each and every breath taking detail of the landscape around her.

Eventually, they reached the fence that surrounded the house and Ron led her to towards the front gate.

“Wait.” said Hermione, “I can hear talking.”

“The tovarasi are here.” Ron responded shortly. “And a few other people…”

“Why?” she asked with a hint of exasperation.

“You’ll see.” he said again and Hermione thought she could hear a trail of excitement underlining his tone.

Without further ado, he pushed the gate open and held it for Hermione as she walked through. “Where are we going?” she asked.

“The backyard.”

His hand fluttered on the small of her back, directing her around the side of the house. Once they’d rounded the corner and stepped into the Burrow’s overgrown but charming garden, Hermione self consciously smoothed down the front of her quidditch jersey when the crowd that was gathered there fell silent.

Mrs Weasley rushed forwards. “Hermione. Sweetheart, it’s so good to see you.”

Before Hermione could respond, the older woman had enveloped her in a tight hug. Hermione patted her shoulder feebly, feeling a little emotional.

Mrs Weasley stepped away and Hermione took a perfunctory glance around the garden, establishing that the entire tovarasi, even Draco, to her alarm, were indeed there, as well as Harry, Mrs and Mr Weasley, Bill and Fleur, Charlie and George. There were also some faces she didn’t expect like Neville Longbottom and Dean Thomas who was hovering over near Luna; and some other faces she didn’t know at all like a short, muscular looking girl with hair that looked more like a peacock’s tail and several piercings littering her face. There was also a tall dark witch with black dreadlocks standing close to Isobel as well, though for some reason Hermione thought she recognised her from somewhere.

“What? Is this a party?” she asked with a nervous laugh, her voice shaking.

“Yep. It’s a party.” Ron answered, close to her ear.

“What are we celebrating?” the quaver in her voice rose to new levels as she locked eyes with Draco and turned away. Her mind began trying to think of a reasonable excuse to turn tail and run from all of them. Perhaps she could pretend to faint? Or she could just vomit? That didn’t feel like it would be all that hard to do by that point…

“Your birthday.”

“But it’s April 29^th. My birthday’s not til September.”

“Yeah and you were alone last year. In fact, I bet you completely forgot about it didn’t you?” Hermione nodded and Ron grinned, “So we’re celebrating it now.”

He gave her a light, telling push forwards so that she walked into the crowd. Each person approached her and gave her a hug or, in George’s case, a ruffle of her hair and wished her happy birthday. She moved through them in a daze that consisted partly of confusion, partly of happiness and partly of overwhelming emotion. She was trying very hard not to cry.

Just after she’d greeted and hugged both Dean and Luna, Draco appeared in front of her and, much to her embarrassment, one tear did slide down her cheek.

He put a hand on her shoulder and leant forward, kissing the cheek that held her one tear, “Happy Birthday, Hermione. Don’t worry, you look beautiful.”

Hermione nodded and thanked him, noting the wet patch on his face that her tear had left. As he walked away from her to go and talk to Blaise, she watched him, waiting for him to wipe it off.

Then, it was Isobel’s turn. She threw herself into Hermione’s arms and gave her a tight but fast hug before she pulled away and directed Hermione’s attention to the dark witch she’d noticed earlier.

“Hermione, this is Boadicea.”

“Bo’s fine.” said the witch, smiling in embarrassment. “It’s nice to meet you Hermione. Happy birthday.”

“Uh… It’s nice to meet you too, Bo.” Hermione responded with a confused look at Isobel who did not attempt to enlighten her as to who the witch was or what she was doing there.

Before she could ask, Hermione felt someone lay a hand on her arm and she turned to see the colourful haired girl standing beside her, grinning widely.

“Hi! I’m so sorry, I couldn’t wait for Ron to introduce me. I’ve been so excited to meet you and the anticipation was just too much! This is just wild, seriously, after everything he’s told me about you and everything that… well he’ll tell you. But anyway, I’m ranting aren’t I? Sorry. I’m a bit prone to that! I’m Claire by the way!”

Claire did not seem to have taken a breath the entire time she’d spoken and Hermione could do nothing but extend her hand bemusedly and splutter.

“It’s… it’s nice to meet you Claire!”

Claire giggled. “Oh, you have no idea… I’m sorry but can I hug you? I really feel like I’ve known you forever and it feels wrong not to give you a hug!”

“Uh, sure!” Hermione responded with a confused chuckle and the girl quickly obliged and wrapped her arms around Hermione, wishing her a happy birthday. As Claire continued to ramble about the house and the company and how fantastic it all was, Hermione became a bit puzzled by the girl’s accent. It was odd, almost British but not. She couldn’t place it. What she also couldn’t place was why a pretty girl, whom she’d never heard of but seemed to know more than enough about her from Ron, was at her party at all.

“Claire! Hermione!” called Harry, approaching the two girls. “Have a drink!!”

A fire whisky was pushed into her hand and she grinned as a circle formed, each member holding a glass.

“Ready?!” George called, “One! Two! THREE!”

She threw back the little glass of burning liquid along with the rest of the group, coughing as it seared her throat. Harry threw his arm around her shoulder as he began talking animatedly to Eli.

Ron appeared beside her. “Are you ready?” he asked quietly.

“For what?” she giggled, the firewhisky already sending a flush to her cheeks.

“Your present.” he replied.

Hermione rolled her eyes and shrugged, beginning to enjoy herself despite the vague dreamlike feeling she had at being there, surrounded by all of her friends and surrogate family.

Isobel suddenly appeared on her other side, grinning from ear to ear. “Ron’s about to tell you it’s from all of us, but it’s really just from him.”

Before Hermione could reply, the younger girl stepped behind her and laid her hands over Hermione’s eyes.

“Can you see?” asked Luna’s voice.

Hermione laughed. “No!”

The chatter of the crowd died and there was a moment of still silence, then she heard the back door to the Burrow squeak open, followed by a few moments of footsteps and scuffling. Then nothing.

“Ok.” said Ron’s voice quietly from some distance away.

Isobel removed her hands and Hermione found that the crowd had gone, leaving only Ron, Harry, Isobel and Hermione alone in the backyard… Alone except for the two people standing a few metres in front of her…

Her mind was nothing in that moment. It was only blankness and white noise.

Then, Hermione’s knees gave out entirely and she fell forward onto them with a thud. Her eyes were wide and almost unseeing but for these two people. Everything else had disappeared…

“Mum?” she choked, “Dad?”

“Hey kiddo.” Barry Granger’s voice was thick and his eyes wet but neither he, nor the woman standing beside him approached her. He was smiling so brightly that Hermione felt almost blinded by it.

“They remember me…” Hermione breathed haltingly.

“Of course we remember you, darling.” said her mother, her voice cracking as tears pouring silently down her face.

Hermione couldn’t look at them any longer, they were too bright, too luminous, they were making her eyes burn. She stared instead down at her hands, splayed on the grass in front of her. It couldn’t be real, none of it was real… No one had known where her parents were, no one but her…

“It’s alright,” said Isobel’s voice from above her and Hermione looked up at her friend to find that she was not speaking to her, she was speaking to her parents. “You don’t need to be scared.”

Suddenly, there were footsteps and then something crashed into Hermione’s body and she found her face pressed into her mother’s hair as the woman’s arms clamped around Hermione’s torso. Hers hung limply by her side. She couldn’t make them move because if she moved at all, if she even took a breath then the body pressed against her would surely disappear in a puff of smoke. There’d been a part of her that had believed she would never see them again, that she would never hear their voices or smell the moisturiser on her mother’s skin. She’d stopped talking about them, stopped thinking about them and she’d even stopped dreaming about them. Because to do any of those things would make it all too real, their absence all too potent. But now they were just there and she couldn’t deal with it. She couldn’t handle the overwhelming and insane emotions that were agony in her bloodstream. The catastrophic fear, the dazzling hope, the monolithic happiness…

Somewhere in Hermione’s turbulent and completely unhinged mind, a piece of her pain cracked and disintegrated and her body found itself again in a tumble of physical feelings she’d almost been numb to a moment before. Her hands were shaking, her throat was dry, her head was spinning and a sweat hand broken out on the back of her neck. But it wasn’t panic this time, oh no… It was euphoria.

Her arms flung themselves around Nina Granger’s body as the tears and laughter tumbled out of her mouth. The two women knelt on the ground, swaying slightly in their embrace before her father joined them, his arms enveloping them both. He still had his tattoos…

Now, Hermione couldn’t look at them enough, her mother’s laughter, her father’s scent, their hugs that were so familiar. And she felt like she could do anything, could move mountains with her happiness. They weren’t scared of her, weren’t mad at her for what she’d done, their happiness was just as visible as hers and it bled into her every pore. She drank in her parents for what felt like hours but was really only a few minutes before she turned to look at Ron who, like Harry and Isobel, had tears in his eyes too.

“How?” was all she could muster.

Ron ducked his head and her father answered for him, “Ron came to find us last year.”

“That’s where you were all that time? When you went away? You were in Australia?” Hermione asked, struck by an overwhelming feeling of disbelief and gratitude.

He nodded.

Slowly, she detached herself from her parents and stood. Without any conscious thought, she threw herself into his body with a thud that echoed through her chest.

“Thank you, Ron. Thank you.” she sobbed, unable to control her raw outpouring of emotion at all. She could feel his smile against her cheek when he hugged her back.

The party went on into the night and through til dawn. Hermione spent the first part sitting on a blanket in the corner of the garden, talking to her parents, telling them of all that had taken place in her life since they’d left, though Ron had filled them in on the war; and they told her all about their life in Australia.

Occasionally one or two members of the tovarasi came over and sat with them, embellishing Hermione’s stories with their own experiences. And after they left, her father would give his expert opinion on each of them. Eli and Blaise he liked, pronouncing them both ‘decent blokes’; Draco he was suspicious of but respected; Juliet and Ginny he treated like family; he’d set up a subscription to the Quibbler with Luna within moments of talking to her; he expressed fatherly concern over Susan; Padma he admired; and Isobel he was completely taken with, declaring that she should never leave Hermione’s side.

At around midnight, Ron finally joined them and Hermione managed to coax the whole story out of him. From what she could gather, he’d felt guilty after she left, knowing that he could have done something to prevent it but didn’t. He loved her and he’d wanted express that in some way. But rather accurately, he’d deduced that she needed time, that she had a whole heap of healing to do on her own. Ron being Ron, however, he couldn’t just sit by and wait for her to return. Like her, he couldn’t stay in the Burrow and the grief that hung heavily in the air. So he’d gone to Australia, not having the faintest clue where to start. All he’d had were their names and professions; Wendell and Monika Wilkins, dentists. He’d made contact with the Australian Ministry, made a few friends and gotten a flat in Melbourne with one of them, Claire, which explained the accent. He told her all about Hermione, about what they’d been through and how he felt and Claire had progressively become just as obsessed with finding Wendell and Monika Wilkins as he was. For weeks, they searched, Claire teaching him how to use a phone and computer. They combed phonebooks, the internet and public records, and spoken to what seemed like thousands of muggles with the last name Wilkins. Ron had decided to return then, to England, hoping to find something that might lead him closer to his goal. But he’d found nothing.

Hermione had been right though, in thinking that he’d seen her and Blaise on the balcony that day. But she was surprised to learn that, while he’d been shocked to see her hanging out with a Slytherin, he hadn’t thought anymore of it, figuring that it wasn’t any of his business anyway. It had been Harry who’d drawn that assumption. No, Ron was just glad to see she was alright.

Days later, he’d gone back to Melbourne to continue his search with Claire and it seemed for months that they would find nothing. Until finally, in November, they’d hit gold. A muggle couple, dentists, who lived in Perth. And so off they’d gone, boarded a plane and flown across the country. Ron and Claire set up a chance meeting so that he could suss them out, though of course he’d known who they were the moment he’d seen them.

Ron and Claire got close to the Wilkins, became their friends and one night, they decided to confess to being magical. Of course, it didn’t go down particularly well, especially when Ron tried and failed to cast a simple hovering charm in his nervousness and broken a very old and expensive vase. But the Wilkins came around eventually and accepted the witch and wizard into their family.

It was then that Ron returned to England again, for Christmas. Harry was gone by then and he’d begun to get a bad feeling. Ginny had told him some small details about how Hermione was not doing so well, that she was floundering somewhat and he’d been more eager than ever to have her parents returned to her.

And so, when he returned to Perth, the Wilkins’s were hit with yet another bombshell. They had a daughter. When Ron showed them a picture of Hermione, Monika confessed that she’d been having dreams for months about the girl in the picture, though she couldn’t remember ever seeing her. For a long while they did not entirely believe Ron’s news and said they’d needed time to think. So Ron, suppressing his impatience and frustration, spent some time travelling around Australia with Claire and seeing all that the wonderful country had to offer. He left Hermione’s photograph with her parents.

It was then, in March, that they returned to Perth to discover that the Wilkins’s had decided to go ahead with the memory charm reversal. And Claire, who was a rather bookish and intelligent witch like Hermione, managed to reverse it successfully. They were able to remember their time as Wendell and Monika but the Grangers were eager to see their daughter again. In fact, eager was an understatement. It took all of Ron’s cunning to convince them to remain behind in Australia and prepare for their departure. They sold their house and their car and their practice before finally, in late May, Ron brought them and Claire, because the girl couldn’t miss the opportunity off seeing the couple she’d come to love reunited with their daughter, back to England the night before Hermione and Ginny had come to fetch him. He’d been brought up to date by his father on Harry’s most recent actions and so, when the two girls had arrived, he wasn’t in the least surprised. But then was not the right time to reunite Hermione with her parents.

He’d put it off for a long time, until he’d thought that she was in a better place to accept them, he didn’t want to upset her when she was already so fragile. It had taken Barry Granger, two nights previous to the party, threatening Ron very sincerely that if he tried to stop him seeing his daughter any longer, he’d snap his wand.

And so Ron had, quite wisely, set about gathering the tovarasi and planning Hermione’s birthday.

Hermione had absolutely no idea how to process Ron’s story. To think that while she was agonising, torturing herself and refusing to seek help, that he had been off doing all of that. Of course, she was overjoyed, beyond happy, but there were a few things she felt a little uncomfortable about. For one, she didn’t know what to think about Claire. What exactly was the status of their relationship? Hermione didn’t think she felt jealous or anything, but she wanted to know and didn’t like that it hadn’t been established. The second and far greater worry in her mind was this: what if Ron expected them to get back together now? She didn’t want that and she didn’t want to feel obligated to him after everything he’d done.

If they were ever going to get back together, she wanted it to be because she wanted him, because she loved him. Not because she felt indebted to him.

But eventually, the joviality of the party drew Hermione out of the corner and out of her mind. She stayed close to her parents but also allowed herself to drift away. When night had fallen, fairy lights had lit up the trees, food had been laid on and music had played.

Hermione danced until her legs felt weak and ate until she felt like she might be sick and all the time, she got these swooping sensations in her stomach as a voice in her head said,

Yes. This is real.

And it was. There was a moment, at around two am when she’d found herself standing slightly apart from the joyous and rowdy crowd, sipping on a glass of butterbeer under the light of the trees. And in that moment, she saw them all in their highest selves. Luna and Dean swayed on the grass along with the music, talking quietly and giggling. Harry, Ron, Eli, Claire and Juliet were sprawled on the ground passing around a bottle of Ogden’s and laughing raucously. Draco, Arthur, Bill and Charlie were locked in what looked like a jovially heated debate over at one of the tables set up. Her parents were chatting animatedly with Susan and Mrs Weasley. Fleur, Padma and Ginny were giggling and whispering on the back steps. Blaise and George were pouring over a piece of parchment talking conspiratorially. And Isobel was sitting with Bo on a bench, grinning dopily as the older woman spoke.

They were all smiling, all radiating contentment and happiness and Hermione felt, in that moment, more blessed than she’d ever felt in her life. This was her family. This was her life. This was her healing.

The grass crunched under her bare feet as she walked, her fingers intertwined with Isobel’s. The dawn light made the shadows long and the beat of the music and laughter from the Burrow echoed through the hills around them. But there was a quietness in the environment, the sort of quiet that always permeated her veins around five am. It was the still freshness of dawn.

“You and Bo are together aren’t you?” Hermione grinned to her companion.

Isobel giggled, “In every possible way. Yes.”

“So she’s the secret Auror, huh? Why didn’t you tell me?”

The younger girl shrugged, “At first… I was a bit scared. I didn’t know how you’d react. The wizarding world are alright about homosexuality but I’ve heard awful things about how the muggles deal with it…”

“I can promise you not all of them think like that. And I certainly don’t. I’m happy that you’re happy, Isobel.” she said urgently, keen to show Isobel her unyielding support. For once, Hermione felt truly ashamed that she was muggleborn.

Isobel smiled. “Thanks Hermione. I sort of knew that anyway… After a while, it was just easier not to say anything, what with everything that was going on.”

“I can understand that.” Hermione conceded.

Isobel grinned and nudged her friend playfully, “So what about you? How’s your love life?”

Hermione cackled, “Calling it a ‘love life’ sounds far too simple.”

“Alright, I’ll narrow it down. What’s going on with you and Ron?”

She grimaced, “I don’t know. I’m scared that he expects something to happen after everything he’s done… But then, this Claire girl is here and I have no idea what to make of that.”

“Well, for one, I don’t think Ron’s like that. He loves you, Hermione, and I don’t mean in a romantic way, though that might be there. I think he did it just because he wanted to help. That’s all. And as for Claire, well… Do you think they’re together? Are you jealous?” asked Isobel and Hermione was struck with how much she loved her friend for being able to simplify her problems like that, so they didn’t feel so scary.

She thought about her answer for a while before she spoke. “Hmm… The way they are around each other is sort of telling. There’s intimacy there, you know? Like they know each other well enough to be comfortable in each other’s personal space… And I don’t know that I’m jealous really, I’m sort of over the whole jealousy thing anyway. If he loves me, in whatever way, then him loving someone else doesn’t really have anything to do with it. It’s just an ongoing extension of the love we have. And the love we have is just an extension of the love they have. It’s circular. Do you know what I mean? I don’t care who he’s sleeping with. And I feel the same about Draco, I think. I know that a part of him cares for me. I’m good with that.”

“I think that’s a beautiful way to look at love Hermione.” said Isobel quietly.

“But there’s something that Draco said a while ago that’s been playing on my mind…” Hermione said slowly as they walked.

“What’s that?”

Hermione told her about the conversation she’d had with the wizard by Harry’s bed that night all those weeks ago.

“He said I deserved better than him, that he’d never love me the way Ron did and Ron’s reasons for leaving were nobler. It almost sounds like he knew where Ron had been all that time.” she finished, frowning.

“That’s because he did know.” said Isobel heavily.

Hermione’s head snapped up so fast she felt her neck click. “What?!”

“Well, not the whole time but…” Isobel sighed in frustration, “Look. I told him I wouldn’t tell you any of this but a while ago, Draco and I had a conversation. About your parents. After the night in Privet Drive, he was pretty torn up about everything he’d done and I guess he wanted to make it up to you somehow. So he pulled some strings, doled out a pretty hefty amount of money, and hired an investigator in Australia to find your parents. I think his goal was to just find them so that he could let you know they were safe. Anyway, the investigator told him they’d already been found. By Ron. And that they were already back here. So there you go. He’d been bested and he conceded his loss.”

Hermione snorted, “You make it sound like I’m some trophy.”

Isobel sighed and ran a hand through her blonde hair. “Honestly, Hermione, I think that’s probably a part of how he sees you. And I mean that in the nicest way possible. I think Draco loves the idea of you, of what you bring to his life. But, I mean, look at it this way, the moment you really broke, properly, not just a few days of depression but months and months, he couldn’t hack it, could he? It was too real.”

Hermione nodded resignedly. “I think ultimately, the only thing I need to know now is what he’s told me. He’s not ready for us. Or he doesn’t want it. Either way, he’s not with me now and that’s it. I don’t want to spend any more time making assumptions about his feelings.”

“That’s probably smart.” Isobel agreed.

They walked on in silence for a time, cresting the top of a hill near the Burrow. The fresh, warm wind caressed their skin and whipped their hair about their faces. And here they stopped, staring out at the slashes of purple and red and gold that were cresting the horizon.

“Are you happy, Hermione?” asked Isobel reflectively after a while.

Hermione pressed her palm closer to her friend’s and took a deep breath. On the exhalation she said, “Yes.”

“Me too.” said Isobel softly.

“Do you think this will last? This feeling?”

The younger girl smiled knowingly, “No. That’s not how life works. But does it really matter? We’ll always know we had this night and this feeling. That we had this moment and this dawn. And there’ll be plenty more like it.”

Hermione looked at her friend and moved closer to her so that their shoulders brushed each other. “It’s funny isn’t it? This happiness thing… We spend all our time chasing it, trying to force it and freaking out when it’s not there. And we miss all the great stuff that happens in between. My life is up and down. I can wake up in the morning and feel awful and then, that night I can feel euphoric. Some weeks are shit and some are brilliant and I can’t help feeling really grateful for that right now. How many people get to experience life like that? I’ve always buried my nose in books, trying to learn everything there is to learn when I should have been burying my nose in my own life.” she sighed, “You wanna know what I think?”

“Always.” Isobel responded.

“I don’t know that there is a god or a goddess or whatever, but I think there’s a higher power, and that’s joy. Happiness is the higher power. And when we suffer, it’s just that power trying to let us know there’s something we haven’t learnt yet. I was sad for a long time because I wasn't learning the lessons set out for me. And now I am. I’ve learnt that love is good for my soul but so is pain. I’ve learned that I don’t need to look at the past anymore, because there are so many wonderful things right here. Like this sunrise, like the sound of all our friends, of our family laughing, like you, Isobel. I don’t need money and I don’t need power, I don’t even really need happiness. I just need to know that this, right here, right now, I need to know that this feeling exists.”

Isobel tugged on Hermione’s hand and Hermione turned to face her. The younger girl leant forward and kissed her lightly on the lips, a sign of their friendship, of their bond.

“It does, Hermione, it does. This is it.”

Hermione felt a tear slide down her cheek as the two of them turned as one to look at the horizon. Moments later, the two women, one who was once a warrior of the light, and the other who was a Slytherin and a death eater’s daughter, were bathed in the golden light of the sun as it emerged from behind the rolling hills.

Hermione Granger’s life was full of juxtapositions, and this was just one of them. The healing was done, but, at the same time, it had barely begun.

For right then though, she was majestic.

A/N One more chapter to go! But if, in the two to three days you'll have to wait for it, you find yourself bored, feel free to check out my Lucius/Luna (I know, wierd right?) oneshot that has just been finished and posted!

Lots of love,

Desdemona

Kain - That GIF was fucking brilliant. Honestly. I got some very odd looks from my family when I suddenly burst into laughter in the middle of a movie. Nail on the head with the sequel. It won't be centred around magic at all really, mostly just their lives. You'll get it after I post the final chapter. It's post-Hogwarts. xx

Cat - Hehe I'm touched that you review at all darling! xx

anaidra - Thanks babe! And yeah, love's funny like that innit? xx

Aranel - Haha, like I've already said, harem fic, just for you!!

tabitoo - Thanks lovely! Hope you liked it :)

kit - I also am eagerly awaiting the trailer! I've only seen bits of it so far :(

DB1 - Hehe don't you just love that word? Therapised. It is now my life's goal to stick it into conversation at every available opportunity!

The quote at the beginning of this chapter is from Ani Difranco's song 32 Flavours. Her music has served as a huge inspiration for this piece. I own nothing. Thanks Ani!
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Victim of the Fall