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Victim of the Fall	By : PrettyDesdemona Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 32726 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 7
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter universe or any of its characters. I do not make any money off this story. Only love!

Chapter List
- 6
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CHAPTER 7

STUDYING STONES

“I am out here studying stones, trying to learn to be less alive. Using all of my will to keep very still, still even on the inside.”

George gave her a calculating look and pushed himself off the bench to walk towards her. “What exactly would you like to know?”

“It’s not so much what I’d like to know, but what I’d like to feel.” Hermione didn’t know if she was very good at the flirting thing. She’d never had much practice.

His hands landed on her hips, his breath on her face. The scent was so familiar.

Minutes later she was thrusting on his fingers, head thrown back on her couch, his moans in her ears. So this is what tunnel vision felt like? She was vaguely aware of a whole mass of contradictory feelings clawing at the edge of her mind, but it was surprisingly easy to blank them out. So there was no guilt, no thought of how she’d gotten there, only how much better he was. He needed no direction or input; he knew exactly what he was doing and exactly how to get her off.

And off is where he got her.

Unfortunately for him, the moment her body uncurled and her orgasm had finished throbbing in her ears, the formerly muffled alarm bells began ringing loud and clear inside her head. What had she done?

“Oh fuck. Oh god.” His fingers were still tracing lazy circles inside her when her hands flew up to her face. “Oh this is so wrong.”

He was grinning smugly. “I know.”

“No, George, not in a good way.” She moved away from him, his fingers slid out of her. She pulled up her underwear.

“What are you doing?”

“You have to go.” She retrieved her tights from the kitchen floor and put them on too. He looked confused. “I’m sorry, I know this is awful but I can’t do this with you.”

George sighed. “Are you ok?”

Hermione rounded on him, a manic look in her eyes. “What?! No, I’m not ok!” she laughed hysterically, “I have never been further from ok! I have just allowed my ex-boyfriend’s brother to... to...”

“Digitally pleasure you?” George deadpanned.

“Yes! Four fucking days after we broke up!”

“I think you’ve probably been ‘broken up’ for a lot longer than that, Hermione. He was your boyfriend in name only.”

She began to sob. He got up and walked over, his arms held out to comfort her. She flinched away from him. “No, no don’t. Please. Just... Just go. I’ll be ok. I’ll write you in a couple of days and we can talk about this. Ok? Please?”

For a moment she thought he’d refuse but instead he laid a hand on her arm and said seriously, “If you don’t write in a week, I’m coming to break down your door.”

She gave a watery laugh as he slung his cloak over his arm and left.

The following three days were some the worst she’d had since the war.

That night found her in the shower, scrubbing at her skin, trying to wash off the scent that had long since dissipated. But she could still smell it on her. She’d cast cleansing charms on her couch and her throw rug and even on the carpet but it was still there. It was everywhere.

There was a mousy little voice in her head telling her that perhaps she was imagining it but she was too far gone to listen.

How could she have been so stupid? She couldn’t for one second understand what had possessed her to do such a thing. Hermione was not an impulsive person; she wasn’t one to give in easily to temptation like that. Where had her logic gone? Wasn’t it supposed to step in and give her a full list, complete with bibliography, of all the reasons why something was not ok?

Ah. But her logic had been there.

She remembered.

She’d been questioning herself about her emotions. She was wondering if she was angry at Harry or scared for him, if she was panicking, if she was still hurting over Ron, or if she was just curious about George. And her logic had calmly stepped in and told her it was the latter.

How spectacularly, devastatingly, shamefully fucking stupid. Of course she was angry with Harry and scared for him, he was her best friend. Of course she was panicking; there was never a time when she wasn’t anymore. And of course she was feeling sad about Ron, he was her first love, and he’d left her. She was heartbroken.

So, rather than feel all those yucky, awful things, she had chosen instead, to feel curious about George. It wasn’t a real feeling, it was a distraction. And she had known, somewhere in her gut, how wrong it was. But she’d still done it.

She stood naked in front of her bathroom mirror, her skin red raw and her eyes swollen.

“You are bad Hermione.” she told herself. And she was. She wasn’t pure or kind hearted. She was an awful friend, an awful human being. No matter what Ron did to her, what she had just done would break his heart.

George was not to blame. She’d initiated it, and it was she who deserved the punishment.

Hermione’s self esteem wasn’t low, it was gone. She loathed herself. She would have been kinder to death eaters in Azkaban than she was being to herself right then. The weight of it was crushing her. And she had no idea how she was going to begin dragging herself out from underneath it.

Two days later, on the night before the start of term feast, she was no closer to calm. She’d drawn the curtains and lay on her couch since the night George had come for dinner, listening to the same record, over and over again.

“Slight of hand and twist of fate,

On a bed of nails she makes me wait...”

It was a new low. And all the damage was done by her. There was no one else around to blame anymore. She should have stayed at the Burrow. But if she was capable of what she’d done, what else could she do? She was better off away from people, locked in her flat. The people she loved were safe then.

Harry would never have done it, and Ginny would have died before she cheated on him. Ginny waited for him for seven years. She sat by his bed and held his hand while he cried. Their love was pure.

Remus and Tonks bore a child together; they died in battle together, their arms reaching for each other. Their love was pure.

Arthur made Molly sandwiches every night, even though he’d been working all day, even though she wouldn’t thank him. Their love was pure.

Lily and James Potter died protecting their son. Their love was pure.

And Ron held her hand through it all. His touch wasn’t primal or rough, it was sacrosanct. He would never have done it. Ron’s love for her was pure.

She deserved her pain. She deserved to be screamed at, abused, and hated. She deserved punishment.

Hermione noticed through the haze of her tears, that she was holding her wand. She lifted her arm and drew it along the back of the opposite hand. “Diffindo.”

The skin split along the line she had drawn. Blood pooled in the wound and began to seep out. In the back of her mind, she vaguely registered that it wasn’t a deep enough cut to do any real damage before dropping her hand back onto her stomach indifferently.

She cried, briefly, from the pain of it while a little voice in her ear said, “Not enough.”

No, it wasn’t. She’d endured cuts and bruises before, she was used to it. She needed to feel the kind of pain Ron would feel if she told him what she’d done. That’s what she deserved. And there was only one spell she knew of that could do that. She picked up her wand again and pressed its tip to her temple.

“Crucio.”

She waited. Nothing happened. This seemed worse than the alternative.

She tried again, this time trying to push all of her anger and pain into the word.

“Crucio!”

Still, nothing happened. She curled into herself, cradling her bleeding hand and sobbed. She was already forming plans in her head of how she could research the spell when she went back to Hogwarts and perhaps adapt it a little so she could use it on herself. She was determined to take the punishment.

The rest of the night, until the wee hours of the morning, she lay on her couch, getting up only to begin the record again.

Hermione awoke to Crookshanks nudging her hand with his head, as it hung over the edge of the couch. When she glanced down, she realised it was still caked with blood. She grimaced. The cut was past magical healing now. She’d have a scar.

Another one.

She rolled over to face the back of the couch, moaning. Her head pounded and her eyes stung from crying.

The daylight penetrating the room through the gaps in her curtains, though dim, was hostile and very much unwelcome. She wanted to go back to sleep. The last time she’d glanced at her watch before she finally passed out the night before, it had read 5am. It was still too early to be awake.

Her cat meowed loudly.

“Shut up, Crookshanks!” she snapped.

He meowed again and jumped up on the couch with her, kneading at her stomach affectionately.

“Fine.” She sat up, knocking him off as she did. “I’m up now. Happy?”

He glared at her and stalked away. Hermione noticed the quidditch jersey she was wearing was stuck to the skin of her stomach. She looked down. More blood.

She sighed and rubbed her eyes. This was too much. She had to do something. Three days lying on a couch crying was beginning to feel a little self indulgent.

Hermione glanced at her watch. 5:15pm. She gasped. She’d assumed the dim light had meant early morning but instead, it had meant early evening.

And she had to be at Hogwarts for the start of term feast in less than an hour.

Hermione leapt to her feet and regretted it immediately, as spots appeared in her vision. She stumbled and swayed for a moment before regaining her balance.

She ran through her bedroom and into the bathroom, tearing off her clothes as she went. When she turned on the tap, steam billowed out of the cubicle. Just as it began to fog up the mirror, she caught sight of her reflection. Her mouth dropped open in shock. She hurriedly wiped the condensation from the mirror and stared at herself. Not only did she look like she’d recently died but there was an evil looking black bruise curling around her eye from her temple. She poked it, ready to flinch in pain. It didn’t hurt at all. Perhaps she had poked herself too hard with her wand when she tried to...

As her hand dropped, she caught another glimpse of her watch. 5:21.

“Shit!”

She threw herself into the shower for a quick scrub, purging her body of the dried blood. She downed a Pepper Up Potion from her bathroom cabinet and dressed in her Hogwarts robes, strapping her wand holster onto her left arm and wincing slightly as it dragged over the cut on her hand. She devoted a few almost wasted minutes to trying to cover the bruise on her face with the muggle foundation she kept for special occasions. It dulled it marginally but thankfully masked the sickly pallor of her face and dark bags under her eyes. She threw a few things into her beaded bag, relieved beyond belief that she didn’t have to pack her trunk this year otherwise she would have been truly late.

It was 5:45 when she hurtled out of Flourish and Blotts and ran up the road to the Leaky Cauldron, where she could apparate to Hogsmeade station. She pulled her hair, which had most conveniently gone mad, up into a loose bun as she ran, careful to let a portion of her fringe fall across her bruised temple. Once she reached the court yard behind the pub, she turned on the spot into darkness.

Hermione apparated directly into a crowd of fifth year Hufflepuffs who understandably shrieked at her sudden appearance. The unexpected darkness at Hogwarts compared to the daylight still hanging over Diagon Alley threw her for a moment as she got her bearings. The platform was crowded with students; the Hogwarts express having just arrived. She was grateful for the thestral drawn carriages that negated the need for her to sprint up to the castle.

“Firs’ years over ‘ere!” Hermione gave an excited squeak and rounded on the familiar voice. Rubeus Hagrid towered over the crowd and Hermione pushed her way through the throng to get to him.

“Hagrid! HAGRID!!”

He turned at the sound of her voice and beamed. “Hermione! How are yeh?”

“I’m good! Really good!” She realised as she said it that she really meant it, seeing Hagrid had warmed her heart and she felt a weight lift off her shoulders. She was back on home turf.

The crowd began to buffet her away from him and she called out over her shoulder, with an apologetic shrug, “I’ll come for tea in a few days ok?”

He nodded and waved, grinning from ear to ear.

Hermione leapt for the first available carriage only to find it occupied by a group of four Gryffindor third years.

She leant through the door. “Do you mind if I...?”

One girl, who Hermione had seen around but forgotten the name of, squealed and almost fell off her seat at the sight of her. The rest nodded enthusiastically and made room for her.

Hermione stepped into the carriage and sat down. She began to regret her decision not to wait for a carriage she could take on her own as the four 13 year olds stared at her with wide eyed awe.

A boy with dark hair and an olive complexion leant forward and said in wonder, “Are you Hermione Granger?” The girl next to him elbowed him in the ribs and gave him a reprimanding look. Hermione was reminded so strongly of herself that she grinned and nodded.

“And what’s your name?” she said to the boy.

He blushed and mumbled, “Noah Williams.”

Hermione smiled. “It’s nice to meet you Noah.” She looked around at the rest of them, waiting for them to introduce themselves too.

The girl next to Noah held out her hand immediately. “My name’s Ebony. Ebony Laurence.”

Hermione took the young girl’s proffered hand. “This is Felix Leeton,” the boy next to Hermione smiled nervously, “And Gypsy Worthington.” the girl who had almost fallen off her seat giggled.

“It’s lovely to meet you all.” Hermione sat back as the carriage was filled with an awkward silence.

Noah glanced shiftily at Ebony before saying, in an undertone, “Is it true you broke into Gringotts and stole a dragon?”

Hermione laughed. “We didn’t intend to but yes. It’s true.”

Noah whistled appreciatively and Felix said, “Whoa!” Even Ebony seemed impressed.

“Didn’t the police try and stop you?” she asked, in an awed voice.

The two boys laughed. “She’s muggleborn.” said Noah.

Ebony’s mouth opened to retort angrily but Hermione cut across her. “So am I.” she smiled.

Ebony looked smug.

Gypsy pointed at Hermione’s left hand with a gasp. “What happened to your hand?!”

Hermione hastily shook her sleeve over the cut and shrugged. “Got into a fight with a bowtruckle.”

“Oh! I know what they are! Professor Hagrid said we’re doing them this year in Care of Magical Creatures!” Ebony was practically bouncing in her seat.

The carriage stopped at the front steps of Hogwarts and Hermione got out. She walked through the entrance hall and into the feast as Noah, Ebony, Felix and Gypsy continued to pepper her with questions.

“Is it true you fought a werewolf?”

“Did you really set a herd of centaurs on the Minister of Magic?”

“How many mountain trolls did you take on in your first year?”

“Are you really dating Harry Potter?”

Hermione laughed. Is this what people thought of the Golden Trio? She was amazed how twisted a story could get when it was passed from person to person. She resolved to set this little group straight at some point and perhaps they could pass it on to their peers. Hermione didn’t particularly fancy the idea that a rumour was floating around that she’d attempted to assassinate the Minister of Magic.

“Hermione!”

Someone was waving excitedly at her from near the staff table. She craned her neck to see Neville Longbottom standing next to the Gryffindor table beaming at her and she waved back, grinning.

She turned back to the gaggle of third years. “I’m going to sit with my friends now, but I’ll catch you guys later ok? Oh and if you ever need help with your homework, you can always find me in the library!”

“Oh cool!”

“See you Hermione!”

“Yeah, bye Hermione!”

Hermione watched as they took seats at the Gryffindor table, chattering excitedly. She made her way down the aisle toward Neville who stood up as she approached and hugged her.

“Hey Neville!”

“Hey Hermione! Oh...” He held her at arm’s length and studied her face. “Are you ok? You look kind of sick.”

Hermione was reminded, for the first time since she’d arrived, of what she’d spent the last three days doing. Of course she looked sick.

She laughed and waved him off. “I’m fine. Just a bit tired.” He didn’t look convinced and she shook her sleeve over her hand again as she took a seat at the Gryffindor table. Hermione looked up and noticed for the first time, who was sitting across from her.

“Hi Ginny.” she said warily.

Ginny seemed half relieved, half defensive. “Hey.”

Hermione studied her for a moment. She looked as bad as Hermione felt.

“It’s ok Gin. We’ll talk later.” said Hermione quietly, with a kind smile.

Ginny seemed to let out a relieved breath and nodded gratefully.

Hermione finally took the opportunity to look around. The great hall was as spectacular as ever. The damage from the final battle had been repaired and it had been restored to all its festive glory. A thousand candles hung suspended in the air above their heads and beyond, the enchanted ceiling reflected the clear, starry sky. She felt herself sag contentedly into her seat. It was good to be home.

She cast her eyes up to the staff table and noted the familiar faces. Hagrid sat talking merrily with Professor Sprout, Professor Flitwick next to her. Professor McGonagall sat in Dumbledore’s old chair, deep in conversation with Professor Sinistra. Hermione noted with a scowl that Professor Trelawney was sadly not absent and was perched on her chair at the far end of the table doing her best to look mystical.

Hermione saw Professor Slughorn waving at her enthusiastically and as she waved back, she noticed an unfamiliar woman next to him, conversing with Professor Vector, her old Arithmancy teacher.

The woman wore deep purple robes embroidered with various symbols and patterns. She seemed to be in her early forties and had long, jet black wavy hair that stuck out in odd peaks and angles. There was something tribal about her, she seemed solemn and wise, though Hermione had never spoken to her.

“That must be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.” said Neville beside her. Hermione noted that many of her peers were studying the woman as well.

Before Hermione could comment, Professor McGonagall rose to her feet and the buzzing hall fell silent as the students gave her their attention.

“Welcome students, new and old. I cannot say how happy I am to be standing here in front of you all today. In the last two decades, our world has learnt many things. First and foremost that magic and power can be wielded by both the good and the bad, the great and the weak, the pureblood, the half blood and the muggleborn. No matter your house, or your blood status, or your level of wealth, you are just as capable as the person sitting next to you of committing atrocities such as the world has never seen. It’s come to you to choose which side you fall on. Not your blood, not your house.” She regarded the students solemnly.

“This year I will be attempting to disintegrate the house prejudices that you have all gotten accustomed to. I see no reason why a Gryffindor and a Slytherin could not be firm friends. In today’s new world, old ideas must be put to rest. In order to move forward, we must let go of the prejudices we have held for centuries.”

A stirring murmur swept through the students.

“We, in this great hall, can be part of so much greatness to come and it is within these walls, where many fought and died, that we must restore what some chose to destroy... to protect our future, to protect what we value, in the true vision of Albus Dumbledore.”

“Wow,” Hermione whispered to Neville.

“She’s mental if she thinks Slytherins and Gryffindors will ever get along,” Neville whispered back. Hermione gave him her usual disapproving stare.

McGonagall continued, “This year at Hogwarts will be different. We will work together to break down the barriers set before us. And those who oppose this will feel my disapproval.” She regarded the occupants of the hall balefully as if daring someone to contradict her.

There wasn’t a cheer, a whistle or even an applause – but a collective positive energy seemed to settle over the students. Hermione could feel it. For a brief moment, she had forgotten about her own problems, and began to remember the great things her, Harry and Ron had achieved in the last 7 years to bring about a change in the world they knew. She felt proud.

“Now, we have a special treat for you,” Professor McGonagall said to break the silence she created. “A guest speaker. He is somebody who, I believe, will inspire every student here today, to strive for the best and perhaps even ease the concerns of the wonderful first years who are waiting ever so patiently to be sorted,” One over-confident first year began to clap, but was only met with indulgent laughter from the rest of the hall.

“May I introduce to a very talented young wizard,” McGonagall gestured towards the back of the hall to someone Hermione could not see even when she craned her head. “Draco Malfoy.”

“HA!” Hermione let out a loud, involuntary laugh. Heads turned in her direction. Surely, McGonagall was joking!

Her eyes widened as Draco Malfoy himself stepped up on to the raised dais the staff table sat on, where Professor McGonagall greeted him by shaking his hand. He smiled nervously, thanked her and stepped up to the lectern, ready to speak.

dh_reader - I'm so glad you felt like it flowed! I know it seems a bit odd but, us humans do odd, fucked up things sometimes right? Hehe I hope you liked this chapter...

The lyrics in the chapter are from U2's With or Without You.

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