Summary: "Hate traps us by binding us too tightly to our adversary" (Milan Kundera). It began as a mistake. Dramione. DH compliant, EWE.
Author's Note: I wrote this for the "shine a light" round of eljay's dmhgficexchange and is complete, though I will post each part every two weeks or so for the sake of reviews. This story has incredibly sensitive topics, and while I've done necessary medical research, I plead artistic license and/or ignorance for any inaccuracies. Huge thank yous to my amazing beta marmalade_fever and to anglicwitch for being a wonderful sounding board, and to my wonderful flist for their encouragement—this is without a doubt the most difficult story I've written thus far, and I couldn't have done it without all of you! I hope everyone who reads will enjoy, and I would of course love reviews!
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling, and therefore do not own Harry Potter—I just enjoy playing in her marvelous sandbox!
FALLEN
"Hate traps us by binding us too tightly to our adversary." –Milan Kundera
Prologue
Hermione Granger had never wanted to be ordinary, even when she'd been a girl.
She'd wanted to do things—big things—and when she'd gotten her Hogwarts letter, she'd felt being a witch would help her accomplish them.
Then the War had happened, and she'd put her life on hold, thankful to just be alive at the end of every day. Afterwards there had been funerals and trials that seemed to go on forever, and although the Ministry had an awards ceremony, nobody felt much like celebrating. Because the War had prevented them from finishing out the year and taking exams, the Ministry had considered it an extenuating circumstance of sorts since things like that had ceased to matter, and it was decided that those involved be judged upon other qualifications when applying for jobs.
She'd felt as though her life was finally back on track, and she allowed herself to dream again.
But no dream of hers had ever led her here.
Her destination loomed in front of her, but now that she'd arrived, the doubts that she'd brutally forced away started trickling back into her mind. She had been so sure that she'd been doing the right thing—that there was nothing else she could do—but now it just felt so wrong.
She'd tried to convince herself that everything would go back to the way it was, that she could simply forget this whole thing had ever happened, that no one would have to end up hurt.
When put into perspective, this was the easy way.
But that didn't make it right, and she knew that if she went through with this that it would haunt her for the rest of her life. She would accept the consequences of her actions and not reward herself for a bad decision she'd made.
Before she could give in to weakness, she turned around sharply and walked away with a heavy heart, knowing that nothing would ever be the same again.
Part I
After the War, all Draco Malfoy had wanted to do was disappear.
His age had protected him even as all of Wizarding England wanted the Malfoys to suffer, but he'd had to watch as his father was sentenced to life in Azkaban in darkened isolation and his mother, spared the same fate after Harry Potter testified that she'd saved his life, was put on seven years of magical probation for her silence and association with known Death Eaters, not the least of which being the Dark Lord himself.
All he'd needed was to be out for a handful of minutes in Diagon Alley before people would spit and shout names at him on the street, and he'd been so ready to run away from it all. If it weren't for the untimely arrival of his conscience and one Pansy Parkinson, he probably would have.
He still remembered that night as though it had happened yesterday.
Since the Ministry had seized the Manor and claimed most of the Malfoy fortune for reparations, they'd found a small affordable flat in Muggle London so they wouldn't be easily recognized. He checked in on his mother, had lingered in her doorway awhile, head bowed. "I'm sorry, mother," he whispered, feeling like the biggest coward alive, "but I just can't do this anymore. It's too hard. One day, maybe, you'll understand."
Pulling himself away, he moved silently down the stairs, took a deep breath, and had just been about to open the door when a few sharp knocks sounded on the other side. There was absolutely no way he'd be able to avoid whoever this was, and there was only one person who would dare visit him right now.
"Bloody hell," he muttered, angrily opening the door. "What the fuck do you want, Pansy?"
She sniffed, looking affronted. "I was going to apologize for not having been able to come sooner, but after that warm greeting I don't think I will. I'd come to check up on you, actually, to see how you were holding up. Are you?"
"Yes," he said stiffly, but Pansy was not as stupid as she liked to act, and he knew it wouldn't take her long to tell that something was up.
As it was, all she had to do was study him for a moment before recognition shone in her eyes. "You're leaving, aren't you?"
He stood there defiantly, refusing to answer her, but his rebellious silence was enough. "Shit, Draco," she said, sticking an accusatory finger at his chest, "how could you? What does your mother have to say about all this?"
He pursed his lips and folded his arms across his chest, daring her to judge him.
She shook her head in disbelief. "Merlin, Draco. Of all the cowardly things you've done, this has got to be the icing on the cake."
"Will you just shut the fuck up?" he finally snarled at her, and probably would've pushed her had she not been a girl. "Do you have any idea what it's been like for me? I can't show my face in public anymore, my mother is falling apart like the family she tried to hold together and can't do anything without magic, and we're poor as dirt. Poorer, even, as far as I'm concerned. If I can't get a job, we're not even going to be able to afford this shit hole."
"Oh, boo-fucking-hoo," Pansy snapped back, unsympathetic. "In case it escaped your notice, Draco, you're the man of this house now—when are you going to start acting like it? If you always run from your problems, you're never going to learn how to deal with them."
"Oh, really? And you would know this because of all your expertise at dealing with problems?" he threw back at her, knowing he was being unfair but too frustrated to care.
She sighed, her face softening. "It hasn't been easy for us either, you know, even though we played both sides and they couldn't really pin anything on us. Simply being Slytherin is enough. But how can you leave your mother when she needs you now more than she probably ever has? All this will pass, soon, although it will likely get worse before it gets better."
He raked a hand through his hair, now feeling pretty wretched. "I'm...I'm not..." But he couldn't bring himself to admit any sort of weakness, even now, and he felt resentment burn through him as he thought of the man responsible for their situation. "All this is father's fault. He was the one who was supposed to protect us, but ever since the Dark Lord came back all he brought us was danger and a name that means nothing. Mother refuses to see this, or if she does she won't acknowledge it, and she's not making things any better."
"He thought he was doing the right thing..." Pansy began, but Draco cut her off before she could continue.
"He was only thinking about himself, and I wonder if he even cared about us at all." Although he would never tell her, he would find later that he was grateful Pansy had come that night, because he knew he would have regretted leaving the rest of his life. He could swallow his pride this once, even if the taste were bitter. "I'm glad he's rotting in Azkaban," he went on fiercely, "it's what he deserves for deserting us for some pathetic Mudblood Dark Lord. I will stay, not just for mother, but to make the Malfoy name mean something again. We shouldn't have to hide like Squibs, ashamed to even step out in the street."
Pansy smiled thinly. "Now that's more like it."
Even though not even a year had passed, things hadn't really changed much.
The fact that he looked like a clone of his father didn't help, and there were times he had to change his hair color and do other small things to alter his appearance so he wouldn't be easily recognized if he had to run errands in Wizarding London. He had managed to get a job at the Ministry, but he had been told up front it was only because it was their only real way to punish him they could keep an eye on him, and he spent his days behind a desk as part of the Muggle fucking Excuse Committee. He should've known that any job they would've given him would be something like that, but that still hadn't stopped him from dropping his jaw.
Now that the War cleanup was basically done, it was actually pretty boring, and he spent most of the time trying to amuse himself.
Today he was making paper airplanes and charming them to zoom around the room.
Someone then decided to choose this moment to knock on his door, and as he lazily called, "Come in," he watched with mild interest as his latest plane flew right into the nose of the Minister of Magic.
Arthur Weasley picked up the plane with a strained smile on his face. "Busy day, Mr. Malfoy?"
Draco struggled to sit up a little straighter, but couldn't find it in him to even feign embarrassment. He shrugged. "You could say that."
It would be if I had a real fucking job.
He chose to keep that thought to himself, and considered it a wise move.
The Minister looked apologetic. "I make it a point to personally visit all new employees, and I've been a bit tied up lately so I'm sorry it's taken me so long to get to you."
Draco was pretty sure he wasn't sorry, but he also decided to leave that opinion in his mind.
"I hope you've been settling in with no trouble..."
A sharp ringing filled the small room then, and Draco rolled his eyes. Since Wizards had recognized the benefits of mobiles, a Wizarding model had been made that was charmed to work everywhere, and Draco had gotten one for himself and for his mother, who was the only person who really called him aside from Pansy.
"I have to take this—it won't be long..."
Mr. Weasley just nodded and adopted an air of indifference as Draco picked up, already irritated. "What's the matter this time, mother?"
"I don't know, but I think the smoke must've set off the smoke detectors..." she sounded distraught, and as Draco listened, he could make out a faint beeping noise in the background.
Smoke?
He sighed and rubbed his temples. "Well I can't come home right now...can it wait?"
"I really don't think..." and there was a beat of silence as she reconsidered, and released a sigh of her own. "If you can't get home, I suppose I can figure out how to get them to stop."
"Good. Bye, mother." After he'd hung up, he let his head linger in his hands for a second before lifting it to face the Minister, who wasn't bothering to hide his curiosity now.
"How is your mother these days?"
Malfoys and Weasleys never made small talk unless they were trading insults, and this was going to take some getting used to. If he wanted to continue to improve his image, he supposed this was part of the sacrifice, but that didn't mean he had to be verbose about it.
"Fine."
Mr. Weasley was starting to look a little uncomfortable now, and if Draco weren't so masterful at hiding his emotions, he would've been smirking. "Well if there's anything you need..."
Draco was sure there wouldn't be, at least not from Mr. Weasley, but he nodded anyway and even threw in a thank you.
It wasn't until he was alone again that he let his mask slip just a little bit as he put his head in his hands, wondering when all this was going to change or if he'd be doomed to atone for the sins of his family for the rest of his life.
When Draco walked into the small flat he shared with his mother, he was greeted by the persistent beeping of the smoke detector and a frantic Narcissa. "I've been trying to turn it off, really I have, but I can't figure out how..."
Draco rubbed his temples with a groan, feeling a headache coming on. After another tediously boring day at work, this was the last thing he needed. He took out his wand and muttered a Silencio. "I'll deal with it later. Right now I just want a nap."
His mother tugged on her hair, something she did only when she was especially upset. "What about dinner?"
Usually he cared enough to try to placate her, but now he simply didn't have the energy. "Just order some pizza, the number's on a magnet on the refrigerator," he said over his shoulder as he walked up the narrow staircase to his room.
Collapsing on the bed in the center of the small room, Draco rubbed a tired hand over his face. He always had all this anger living bottled up inside him, and it was exhausting hiding it from everyone. Even snapping at his mother made him feel guilty when he knew how much she was fraying at the edges, and he avoided her by hiding in his room so he wouldn't say something he'd end up regretting later. If he blew up at work, he would be sacked in a heartbeat. Pansy would listen to him if he wanted to talk, but he'd never felt comfortable discussing his emotions and other things he'd always considered weaknesses.
It was the way he'd been raised, after all.
He sighed heavily and rolled onto his stomach, pushing his face into the pillow. The truth of the matter was that he really didn't think he could deal with this, and his mother wasn't helping. If only she weren't so damned loyal to father still, maybe it would be easier for them to move out of the past, but she refused to let go, as though holding their family together in her mind was all she had left.
Her newfound interest in learning to cook, even though it posed certain risks to the house, seemed to be helping her, but Draco saw it for what it was. She was still too proud to get a job that involved anything Muggle, and it irked Draco that, were it not for the lack of her wand, she probably would have been given a more respectable position in the Ministry of Magic than he had.
Making just enough to afford their flat and food, they'd abandoned all the comforts they'd been used to, but when he thought of father in Azkaban this didn't seem too bad, even if they'd been forced in to a prison of their own.
"Draco! The pizza's here!"
So much for sleeping.
Pushing himself up with a groan, he headed downstairs. He wasn't even that hungry, but he would make the effort for his mother. Grabbing a piece from the box on the kitchen counter, he went to join her at the table, but he was just going through the motions. He did that a lot these days.
"If only your father were here," his mother murmured, chin resting on her hands, eyes distant. "Things would be better."
If they hadn't recycled this discussion time and time again, Draco would have probably been able to stay calm, but they'd gone over this so often that that sentence alone was enough to make him see red.
"Look around you, mother!" Draco said, wondering how much more he'd have to continue saying this for it to sink in. "He's the reason we have to live like this now! We've lost everything, and yet you're still determined to be loyal to the man who brought us down with him!"
Narcissa's eyes were cold as ice, and she was trembling with anger. "No matter what he's done, that man is your father, and you at least owe him your respect."
Draco sneered. "If our places were reversed, do you think he'd want to sully himself with our dirt? He would have severed all ties with us to prevent himself from falling down too. Malfoys are only loyal when it helps themselves, and the fact that we're family wouldn't have made the slightest bit of difference."
"Is that really what you think?" Narcissa demanded, her expression a strange combination of horrified sadness. "He loved you in his own way, just as he loved me."
"Don't fool yourself, mother," Draco snapped, now weary of the argument. "He loved the Dark Lord more than anyone, except maybe for himself."
He didn't see the slap coming until her hand backhanded him harshly across the face. Too surprised to even make a sound, he lifted numb fingers to his burning cheek, glaring at his mother with a mixture of resentment and pain.
When she spoke, her voice was low and dangerous. "I don't want to hear you say anything like that ever again. Do you understand me?"
Unable to bring himself to say anything for the moment, he intensified his glare instead, hating himself for starting this fight and resenting his mother for refusing to see things as they really were.
His mother was not about to take silence for an answer, although there was a tinge of regret in her eyes. "I said, do you understand me?"
Clenching his fists, he ground out through bared teeth, "Perfectly."
He stalked back to his room, half-eaten pizza lying forgotton on the table, leaving his mother leaning back in her chair with a distant expression.
Things can't get much worse than this, Draco fumed inwardly as he slammed his door behinid him. Surely they have to start getting better now.
It was another quiet day in the library, but Hermione Granger liked it that way.
When the War ended she probably could've gotten just about any position she wanted, but after all of the stress and the pain and the sacrifice, she'd wanted some time for herself. Now that she had her life ahead of her, she'd decided she had plenty of time to accomplish everything she'd ever dreamed of, so when she saw that the library in her neighborhood was hiring, she had jumped on the opportunity to find herself again in the place she loved most.
She'd feared her soul would never be the same after all she'd had to give and lost, but within the serenity of the library and the comfort of the books she now had time to read again, she had slowly been healing.
And then she'd had to go ruin everything.
"Hello, Hermione."
Wallowing momentarily put on hold, her head snapped up and her entire body went rigid as the last person she wanted to see strode through the front doors. Well, maybe not exactly the last person—there were a lot of people she didn't want to see right now, but Harry Potter was certainly at the top of the list.
She wasn't going to let him trap her, though, not in her territory. "Harry."
Acknowledging his presence was the most she was going to give him, and she thought that in itself was generous, considering the way this conversation was going to end up.
He eyed the closed book beneath her arms as he fidgeted with the sleeves of his shirt, an anxious gesture that showed he was slightly uncertain as to how to proceed now that he was here in front of her. "What are you reading?"
Hermione bit her lip to force the noise of irritation back. No matter how many pleasantries he tried to disguise his motives with, she knew why he was here, and the sooner they got to the inevitable, the sooner he would leave. "We both know why you're here Harry, and it's not for social reasons. Please don't insult my intelligence by beating around the bush."
His eyes flashed, and if she hadn't been prepared, she would've flinched at the intensity of the sudden anger she'd seen. "If you're so intelligent, Hermione, why did you let this happen? How could you?"
She bristled, feeling defensive in spite of her earlier resolution not to. "So you're just going to attack me without even asking for my side first?"
The glare had settled permanently into his expression now. "I'm pretty sure I've already heard it."
That was the last straw—the rage that had been building inside her flared to life, and she drew it around her for support. "Then why did you even bother coming here?"
"Because, even though I knew Ron wouldn't lie about something like that, a part of me wasn't willing to accept it." Harry's face hardened as he continued, "But now that I've seen you, I know it's true. Merlin, Hermione, why are you doing this? You know it's still not too late to—"
She rose so quickly that she almost knocked her chair over, effectively cutting him off. "I've already confronted that choice Harry, and if you really knew me you wouldn't have to ask me why I couldn't go through with it."
He shook his head, deflating a little. "I just…don't get it, Hermione, and I'm not sure any amount of explaining on your part is ever going to make me understand why."
Sighing heavily, she sat back down, and pinched the bridge of her nose. "Even though I know it's not going to change anything, I am sorry, Harry, but it's just not in me to run from the consequences of my actions. I understand if you don't want to see or talk to me again, and I won't hold anything against you—if I were you I'm not sure I'd want to have anything to do with me either."
"Does he know?"
The question caught her slightly off guard. She considered not answering and telling him to leave, but if this were the last time she'd speak with him, she really didn't want to put any more water under the bridge than there already was. "No."
"I think you should let him know."
Unable to help herself, she gaped at him. That had been the last thing she'd expected him to say, and for a moment she was at a loss for words.
Taking advantage of her surprised silence, he continued, "Even if he won't like it, he has a right to know." There was a pregnant pause, and then he went on, "If I were him, I would."
Hermione was really at a loss now. Finally she said, "Why are you telling me this, Harry?"
He gave her a sad half-smile. "We've been through a lot, Hermione. I'm mad as hell at you, and things will never be the way they were, but there will be a part of me that will always care for you, and you shouldn't have to go through something like this alone."
But she was alone now, wasn't she?
Even her own parents weren't willing to trust her after what she'd done to them.
Fighting back the sudden lump that had lodged itself in her throat, she said resolutely, "Just because I've ruined my life doesn't give me the right to ruin his."
Harry exhaled heavily. "Well, think about it, all right?"
She nodded, not trusting herself with words at the moment.
Glancing at his watch, Harry said, "I'd better get home for dinner before Ginny starts wondering where I am. Take care of yourself, Hermione."
"You too, Harry," she said softly, resolved not to cry even after he'd gone.
No self-pity, she scolded herself mentally, this is all your own doing.
That thought didn't make this any easier, though—if anything, it made the whole situation harder, and Hermione placed her hand on her slightly rounder stomach with a weary sigh.
Why had she done it?
Even now she didn't really have a clear answer, except that at the time she'd just really wanted to feel alive again. It had taken everyone awhile to find themselves after the War, but the hardest thing for Hermione had been the strained relationship between her parents, and it hadn't improved much.
They'd understood that she'd been protecting them, but they'd made it very clear that they hadn't approved of her methods, saying that even war hadn't given her the right to take their memories away from them.
She'd naïvely expected a happy reunion, but after they'd hugged her it had all gone downhill. Remembering that argument and all the ones that had followed still left her feeling depressed and wondering if her parents would ever be able to trust her with anything ever again.
And then there had been Ron.
After the passionate kiss they'd shared she'd thought that they'd finally be able to get their acts together, and she could've used that ray of happiness during the trials of the funerals and all the other hardships that came with the end of a war.
They had only talked about the chances for a relationship once, and while it hadn't damaged their friendship, an air of tension had lingered until the night that everything had gone to hell in a hand basket.
It had been a week since Fred's funeral, and somehow they'd managed to find a private moment underneath a tree in the Weasley's backyard.
"I just don't understand why this has to be so difficult." She'd lost track of how they'd found a way to this topic, but now that they had she wasn't about to back down.
Ron sighed, looking down at his toes instead of up at her. "It's not that I don't want to be with you Hermione, I do, but well, my family needs me and…I honestly don't know if I could handle a relationship too."
She was glad he didn't see the hurt that flashed across her face. Squaring her shoulders, she said, "I know you're going through a difficult time—we all are. But I think we could use some happiness to help us through this, don't you?"
He stuffed his hands in his pockets, and when he finally glanced over at her, there was a helpless look in his eyes. "I—I don't know, Hermione."
As much as they were attracted to each other, there was always some reason why Ron couldn't be with her. If he'd wanted to make her jealous with the whole Lavender show it had worked, but he'd stayed with her so long that Hermione wondered if he'd forgotten his initial intentions and had gotten lost in his own charade.
Then Harry had needed them, they'd gone off Horcrux hunting, and the War had ended although it didn't really feel as though it had yet. To Hermione, it felt as though she'd been waiting for Ron awhile now, and while she understood the circumstances that had kept them apart, she wasn't willing to wait much longer.
She wrapped her arms tightly around herself. "But—that kiss—didn't it mean anything to you?"
"Of course it did, Hermione," Ron said quickly, looking a little abashed. "It's not that I don't want to be with you, I do, but I just…can't right now."
Exhaling heavily, she whispered, "I'm not trying to force anything, and I do understand, Ron. Just don't expect me to wait forever."
They had kept their physical distance from each other after that, and just when it had seemed as though that ship had sailed, he had found the most inopportune time to bring them up again.
And now, here she was.
She put her head into her hands, moaning softly. Robert Frost had had it easy, she decided glumly. There were definitely more than two paths diverging in her yellow wood.
"You okay there, Granger? You look a little ill."
Hermione didn't have to glance up to identify the owner of that voice, and she resisted the urge to groan. She must've been really out of it if she hadn't even been aware of his approach, and she mentally cursed the ill luck that had infected her day. All she needed now was to see Ron later to make it complete. "It's only a result of the thought of having to see your face, Malfoy. Now what the hell do you want?"
Malfoy smirked down at her. "What crawled up your arse and died, Granger? If you were trying to insult me, you should be intelligent enough to know that you can't burn someone with cold water. I'm actually here to check out some books. Isn't that what one generally does want to do in a library?"
She really wasn't in the right frame of mind for a sparring match with anyone right now, especially Malfoy. Unwilling to waste any more words on him, she settled for a stony glare, but her curiosity got the better of her as soon as she reached for the first book. "A cookbook, Malfoy?"
His eyes iced over completely. Apparently she'd treaded on testy waters, and she had to admit that knowledge did give her a small amount of smug satisfaction.
"Fuck you, Granger," he growled, but instead of feeling intimidated, all she wanted to do was laugh.
"Oh I see," she said, rolling her eyes. "You can mock me, but you're off limits?"
"If you know what's good for you," he said threateningly, but she just shrugged her shoulders.
She scanned the rest of his books quickly, ready for him to leave. "You don't scare me, Malfoy, and this act of yours doesn't fool me either. Most people might not be able to see through it, but all it hides is a coward, and it's pretty hard to be afraid of that."
His anger was palpable by this point. "You have no idea what the fuck you're talking about."
She raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Clearly I've hit some kind of nerve—why else would you be this mad?"
They'd now reached a strange sort of stalemate: he couldn't contradict her unless he had some explanation, because he knew that she would keep goading him until he gave one. She highly doubted that he would be willing to offer up anything believable, and that left him with really only one option.
His lips twisted into something ugly. "The problem with you Gryffindors is that you love passing judgment on other people and then get so indignant when you receive the same treatment. I think you're a self-righteous bitch, and I don't owe you anything."
Grabbing his books, he stormed out of the library without giving her the chance to respond, but her victory didn't give her much pleasure, and it wasn't because of the insult.
You do owe me Malfoy. You owe me more than you could even begin to guess.
But now, though, she knew what she had to do.
Even if he wasn't going to like it—hell, she didn't like it either—she figured that she owed him too. Setting her jaw, she found some paper and a pen and began to write.
to be continued