Jump Then Fall

Author: Lost Soul Here

Characters: Draco M. and Hermione G.

Rating: T

Summary: The first time Ron takes Hermione out to play Quidditch, it doesn't go as planned. Seventh year AU.

Basically, Cedric didn't die in Harry's fourth year, Voldemort didn't rise, and everyone else who died after GoF didn't. Just wanted to set that straight.

Disclaimer: Jo owns the characters, Quidditch, and Cleansweeps. I own the plot.

"Come on, Hermione! It isn't that bad!"

"No, Ron! I've said it once and I'll say it again: I will not step foot on that Quidditch field!" Hermione shouted, stomping her foot on the carpet of the Gryffindor common room. Jesus, Hermione thought grumpily. He's so thick sometimes! It's as if whatever I say goes in one ear and out the other.

"Hermi—"

"Ronald!" she scolded. "No means no!"

"Please? For me? You don't even have to play. You can just sit on your broom and watch. Everyone's already outside, and I told Harry and Ginny you'd be playing," Ron pleaded, already knowing the answer. Surprisingly, Hermione seemed to consider his offer.

"Fine."

"What?" Ron asked incredulously.

"I said fine. I'll go. On one condition: you let me use your Cleansweep."

Ron's jaw dropped. "No! It's my broom! You don't even like brooms! Why would it matter?"

Hermione shrugged. "I don't trust the school brooms. They're jerkier than the Whomping Willow."

Ron scowled. "Thanks, Hermione," He stalked away, grumbling to himself. "Really. I've been practicing for this scrimmage against the Slytherins for ages, and now she just takes my broom. And the shitty school Shooting Stars'll just make it worse, and..."

"Is that a yes?" Hermione called sweetly. Ron turned, a frown still etched upon his features, but it fell as soon as he saw Hermione's smile.

"Okay. Just...be careful, okay?" He said gruffly, loping over to hug Hermione.

She rolled her eyes and patted his flaming hair. "Honestly, Ronald, what are you more worried about? The broom or me?"

"Both." His blue eyes flashed with humor before he dropped a quick kiss on her lips. "Let's go. Bring a sweater, it gets chilly up in the air."

Hermione groaned, remembering exactly what she had agreed to.

"Hermione, it's pretty easy. Just hold out your hand and say, 'Up!' Simple!" Ron said, several feet above her. He was clutching the handle the beat-up Shooting Star he was seated on as he peered down at his girlfriend.

"What if it hits my face?" Hermione wailed, trying to stall the inevitable beginning of the game.

"It won't. Jesus, Hermione, you're the brightest witch of our age! Can't you sit on a broom for a couple of hours?" Ron said, groaning at both Hermione and the unreliable broom he was currently using.

"...Up?" Hermione said, holding her right hand out and using the other to shield her face. The broom leapt into the air and met her palm with a satisfying smack!

"Great! Then mount it just like you would a...what are those Muggle things called? A pike!"

"A bike, Ronald," Hermione said, carefully swinging one leg over Ron's precious broom.

"Yeah, that's what I said. A pike. Anyway, now kick off the ground—hard—and it should work," Ron replied. Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and shoved her feet from the crispy April grass. Her stomach dropped somewhere around her knees and she peeked through her eyelashes cautiously. She let out a startled squeak when she saw the ground four meters below her.

Ron whooped. "Hermione, you did it!" He flew over and wrapped an arm around her shoulders. "Harry! Gin! Over here!" A dark-haired, bespectacled young man caught the Snitch he was toying with and shot over, a lean redhead close behind.

"Great, Ron! She's on her broom. Tell us when something interesting happens," Harry teased, grinning at his best friends, one of whom was wobbling on a bucking Shooting Star. Ron cursed at the broom and unsuccessfully threw a punch at Harry. Hermione stuck her tongue out before moving slowly toward Ginny.

"Hey, Gin," Hermione said breathlessly. Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder and began braiding her impossibly long locks.

Ginny flashed her a radiant smile and said, "Can we start now? I can't wait to kick some Slytherin ass."

"Yeah, yeah. Just keep the Bludgers away from me. I read that they travel one-hundred and twenty kilometers an hour," Hermione said, nibbling her lip and giving the box that contained the beasts a wary look.

"Don't worry, they won't hurt you. Fred and George are a force not to be reckoned with, I tell you," Ginny reassured Hermione, waving the twins over. Fred gave George a final whack with his Beater's bat before going to Ginny.

"It was really nice of Dumbledore to let us visit Hogwarts before you all left," Fred said, swinging his Beater's bat to the right and catching George in the gut. "More test subjects for our prototypes, eh, George?"

"Still going to be here, Fred, remember? Being a year younger than almost everyone is a pain in the ass. And I don't think your possessed Beater's bat is going to sell well," said Ginny, tying off her incredibly long braid. She swung it over her shoulder and blocked the bat Fred threw at her side. It plummeted to the ground, and he dove after it with a "Charmed, not possessed!"

"And down he goes. Unlike his business. I'm sorry I can't say they're going in the same direction," a voiced drawled behind Hermione. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled, and she turned her head. Draco Malfoy was perched lazily on a top-rate racing broom—one that Hermione didn't know—with a sarcastic smile on his features.

"And why the bloody hell is Granger on the field? I'm pretty sure the only athletic thing she can do is lift her enormous book bag," he said, and Hermione fought a smile. He and Hermione were on cordial terms. It was hard to avoid speaking to each other when they were the Head Boy and Girl.

"It's not that much of a workout. It must be much more difficult to cart around that big head of yours, Malfoy," Hermione retorted. She always referred to him as Draco in her head, but he would always be Malfoy to everyone else. And that meant their friendship would always be as it was now: polite and platonic.

A tall, dark-skinned boy flew to Draco's side. "Come on," he said, shoving Draco's shoulder. "Let's start." "Coming, Blaise," Draco replied, his piercing gray gaze still on Hermione. She blinked, and he turned to leave.

"Try not to get hit by a Bludger, Granger," Draco said over his shoulder. "Too much paperwork to fill out." She scoffed and nudged her broom away.

"What the hell was that all about?" Ginny all but shrieked. "You're...you're fraternizing with the enemy! Tell her, George."

George rolled his eyes. "You talk to Ron too much, Ginny."

"Gin. He's Head Boy. I'm Head Girl. There's bound to be some 'fraternization'," Hermione air-quoted.

"Yeah, yeah," Ginny muttered, already flying off toward Harry.

"Don't let Ginny get you down, Hermione," Fred said, his bat retrieved. "It's not like you actually like the slimy git."

Hermione didn't have an answer to that. Truth be told, she had fun with Draco. Whenever they made their nightly rounds in the corridors, it was as if his mask as Slytherin's prince dropped, and he was simply Draco; she was simply Hermione. They had even begun to study together sometimes. He was actually quite smart and well-read, despite his occasional pigheaded attitude.

"So how are you liking the game so far?" Ron said from behind her.

"We haven't started yet, Ronald."

"Oh. Right."

"So if I'm not going to be playing, what am I going to do?" Hermione asked, secretly crossing her fingers and hoping she could sit down. On solid ground, that is.

"Er, you could just hover around. You know, be another referee," Ron said, scratching the back of his head.

"Fine." Hermione flew off to the edge of the field, a mere three meters from a Gryffindor goal post.

"Ooh, Hermione, look! A Blibbering Humdinger!" said a dreamy voice next to her. Hermione whipped her head around and was face-to-face with a vibrantly-dressed Luna.

"Oh, hello, Luna. Here with Neville?" Hermione said pleasantly, pretending that Luna hadn't almost frightened her off her broom.

"Of course. He's going to be the referee," Luna replied, adjusting her colorful glasses. "So you'll just be watching from up here?"

"Oh, yes. Personally, I find Quidditch terribly boring. I'd rather be fishing for freshwater Plimpies." Hermione smiled as if she understood and looked back at the field. Seamus Finnegan and Lavender Brown had tagged along, and Lavender was currently seated in the stands, cheering on her Irish beau as he mounted his broom. Dean Thomas was already circling the middle of the field, talking with Ron.

"Seamus and Dean are the other Chasers?" Hermione asked.

Luna nodded happily. "Yep. Seamus and Dean and Ginny," Luna confirmed.

"And the...the Slytherins?"

Luna frowned. "I'm not sure. Draco Malfoy's Seeker, Blaise Zabini is a Chaser, along with Pansy Parkinson, and that lovely girl, Astoria Greengrass."

"Oh, no, I see Crabbe and Goyle. And they're carrying Beater's bats," Hermione groaned. "One of them will probably mistake a butterfly for a Bludger and clock the other in the head."

Luna barked out a laugh. "Good one, Hermione!" She chortled, her glasses slipping off her nose.

Hundreds of meters below them, a wiry young man strolled on the field and hopped on his broom.

"Theodore Nott," Hermione murmured.

"Oh, he's the Keeper for the Slytherins. I remember now," Luna chirped.

Neville walked to the center of the field, a broom in one hand and a Quaffle under his other arm. Both teams landed and gathered around him. "Now, I want a nice fair game, all of you," Neville said, mimicking Madam Hooch perfectly. Both teams were glaring at each other, ferocity bright in their eyes. It's just Quidditch, Hermione thought.

"Lee Jordan's visiting with the Weasley twins, so he's going to keep score," added Neville. A responding whoop sounded from the stands, which were beginning to fill with people.

Hermione began to get worried. "Luna," she whispered. "I thought this was just a scrimmage."

"It is," Luna replied, craning her neck to look at Neville. "But it's Gryffindor against Slytherin. No one wants to miss this."

"Oh. Great," murmured Hermione. She swung her feet and looked the ground.

"Mount your brooms!" Neville said, swinging a leg over his while keeping a firm grip on the Quaffle. He looked a thousand times more confident than during his first year, Hermione noted.

Neville blew his silver whistle and flung the Quaffle high in the air. Fifteen brooms—including Neville, who was circling the field—rose in the air. They were off.

The Quaffle was passed around so fast that it became a mere scarlet blur. Lee wasn't even bothering to commentate, and he was currently charming a Gryffindor banner to flash colors. Harry and Draco were high in the air, their eyes roaming over the Quidditch pitch for the elusive Snitch.

Whoosh! A Bludger soared past Hermione, missing her by centimeters. She gave a small shriek of surprise and almost fell off her broom.

"All right there, Hermione?" Fred said as he flew after the Bludger. Clutching the broom with white-knuckled fingers, she smiled weakly at him as he swung at the Bludger. Just great, she thought. It's not like that Bludger almost hit me or anything.

Hermione's attention span was dropping to an all-time low. Everything became a blur of cheers from the stands and Lee's occasional comments about the scores and Slytherin's playing tactics. If Professor McGonagall was here, then Lee's ear would be almost yanked off, Hermione thought absently.

Ron's voice brought her out of her hazy daydreams. "Hermione! Look—" Ron shouted, diving away from his position as Keeper.

"Wha—?" Hermione looked up in time to see the Bludger hurtling towards her at its top speed of 120 kilometers an hour. It struck her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her, and before she knew it, she was falling down, down, down to the ground.

She tried to scream, but she still hadn't gotten her breath back. The ground was a mere five meters below her before a streak of green with a blond head caught her. Or tried to at least. They tumbled onto the sandy ground, and Hermione landed on something soft. It groaned underneath her, and she lifted her head to see what who was. Draco Malfoy.

She shook her hair out of her eyes and groaned too. She had the biggest headache. Bigger than the one she sported before and after final exams.

"Oh, my God, Draco, are you okay?" She cried, dropping the polite pretense they had kept up since the beginning of the year. He groaned again, and she grasped his sweater. That's what the green was, she thought, her fingers clutching at the soft, emerald wool. "Can you hear me?" she asked worriedly.

"Granger," he murmured, his lips clumsy around her surname.

"Yeah?"

"Get...off...can't...breathe."

"Oh. Sorry!" Hermione said. She became acutely aware of their position. Her hands were resting on his chest, and her legs were between his knees; his arms had come around her waist during their plunge, their faces centimeters apart. She scrambled off of him and crouched down next to him.

"Are...are you okay though?" She repeated, a crease forming between her eyebrows. Draco tried to push himself up on his elbows, but he grunted in pain and fell back down on the sand.

"Granger," He said, lifting his hand up. "Please. Stop talking."

Hermione pressed her lips together and dropped onto the ground, tucking her legs beneath her. The remnants of Ron's broom lay a couple meters away, along with the broken handle of Draco's. The players were already beginning to land and the spectators were filing out of the stands and onto the pitch.

"Bloody hell, Hermione! Are you all right?" Ron yelled, his long legs eating up the distance between them. He grasped her shoulders and shook her. Hermione gasped a little as pain skittered up her spine and into her skull. Ron immediately let go and began apologizing, stumbling over the words as he went.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione! I tried to go after you, but the damn broom was jerking around too much. I guess if Malfoy wasn't there looking for the Snitch, I...wouldn't be talking to you right now," Ron finished, his words halting and forced.

It was then that Hermione fainted.

"Hermione, are you okay? Can you hear me?" Hermione moaned in response, her head throbbing in time with her heart. Ron's voice roused her out of the lovely fog that had built up in her mind while she was unconscious.

"...Ron?" Hermione muttered, struggling to speak coherently.

"Yeah, Hermione?" Ron was seated in a chair next to her bed in the hospital wing, gripping her hand tightly as she spoke.

"Sorry about your broom."

"It's all right," Ron replied. Hermione couldn't help but think the words were forced through gritted teeth.

"Where's...where's Draco?" Hermione asked, struggling to sit up. A sharp pain stabbed the back of her head and she collapsed back on the fluffy pillow with a strangled gasp.

"Draco? Oh, Malfoy's over there," Ron said, thrusting his chin at the bed on her left. She looked next to her and gasped again.

Draco was out cold on his bed, a cast on his arm. Hermione suspected his ribs were broken, since their crash landing wasn't any better than the time the Whomping Willow attacked her in their third year.

"What happened to him?" Hermione breathed, looking back at Ron.

He scowled. "Broke his left arm. Fractured a couple ribs. Minor concussion. He's going to be fine. Madam Pomfrey said all he needed was a night with some Skele-Gro and he'll be okay to leave tomorrow."

"Oh," was all she said. After a couple minutes of silence, she looked at Ron again. "Where are Harry and Ginny?"

"It's one in morning," Ron answered. "I said I'd get them when you woke up."

"Can you...can you not bring them here? I'm not exactly feeling well, and I think I'd rather see them when I can see straight."

"Okay. Good night, Hermione," Ron said, squeezing her hand once and kissing her forehead. "I hope you feel better."

"Er, Ron? So...who won?" Hermione asked.

"No one. We decided to quit when you fainted," he replied, shrugging his shoulders.

"I'm sorry, Ron. I know how much you were looking forward to it, and..." Hermione trailed off.

"It's okay. I'm glad you're safe though." Ron left the room, leaving Hermione with an injured and unconscious Draco Malfoy.

Hermione swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her head pounding in protest. Fortunately, Madam Pomfrey had left her in her Muggle clothes—soft pink sweater, dark straight-legged jeans, and worn sneakers—saving her from the embarrassment of a flimsy hospital gown. She crept over to Draco's bed and sat in the lone chair next to it.

He looked quite peaceful there, simply sleeping and healing, although magically. Hermione tentatively reached for his hand and grasped his fingers gently.

"Wait until...my father...hears about this..." Draco whispered, turning his head toward Hermione. She froze, about to pull her hand from his, when she realized that he was still asleep. Almost unconsciously, she stroked his white-blond hair from his forehead, the backs of her fingers skimming along his face. His eyes fluttered open, and he looked from Hermione to the hand that rested on his cheek.

"Hey, Granger," he said weakly, blinking the sleep from his eyes. He smirked as he reached for her hand.

"What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?" Hermione asked, shocked.

"Holding your other hand." And indeed he was. His fingers had laced themselves through hers, pressing her hand to his face. It was slightly uncomfortable, and she tried to pull her hand from his. Draco scowled and tightened his hold.

"Honestly. What are you on?" Hermione said, rolling her eyes. She was beginning to regret seeing if he was okay.

"Pain potions. Skele-Gro. The usual," Draco answered, slurring his words a bit. His smile widened into a goofy grin, and Hermione swore she heard him giggle.

"That's it, I'm leaving." She attempted to pull her hands from his again, causing his delirium to suddenly vanish.

"You do and I'll call Madam Pomfrey. You've got a mild concussion, Granger. You need to rest."

"Then let me go so I can rest. You know, on my own bed."

"Why not rest right here?" Draco said, scooting over on his bed and patting the space next to him. With another eye roll, Hermione decided to humor the potion-affected Draco. Just for tonight. She yanked off her sneakers and sat on the edge of the bed. Draco looked genuinely surprised.

"What?" Hermione said, almost self-consciously. "You asked me to. It's not like we're doing anything." She lifted her legs onto the bed, tucking the blanket around her and Draco.

The bed was a little cramped, and she was beginning to think that a whole night of Draco wasn't worth the time she could tease him later. Just when she decided to crawl out and apologize profusely before going back to her own bed, Draco's unbroken arm flung itself around her waist, pinning her onto the mattress.

"What. Are. You. Doing," she growled, grinding her teeth together. She aimed a kick at his legs but only succeeded in getting her own tangled in the sheets.

"What does it look like? I'm holding you so you have no chance of escape," Draco replied cheerily.

"Wha—What about Pansy?" Hermione said, trying to prod him back to reality.

"Pansy? Pansy and I haven't been together for months. Not since I found her snogging the crap out of Astoria."

"...Oh. Well, what about my blood? You know, my being a Mudblood," she said, searching for another excuse. Draco's mouth flattened into a thin, straight line, his gray eyes ice.

"I'm not sure if you noticed, Granger, but I haven't used that word since our fourth year," he said coldly, his eyes boring into hers.

Hermione thought back. It was true. "Why not?" she said, curious.

Draco's pale cheeks took on a pink tint, and he turned to face the ceiling. He tucked his right arm under his head, brushing it against her side as he did so. His left arm lay still in its cast, resting on his waist.

Draco was silent for a few moments, and Hermione was beginning to think that he was asleep when he spoke again.

"The Yule Ball."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione asked.

"The Yule Ball. You were wearing periwinkle dress robes, and you somehow managed to straighten that wild mane you call your hair," he replied quietly.

"If that's supposed to be your way of giving me a compliment—" Hermione was cut off what he said next.

"You looked stunning. It was hard for me to believe you did, since my father raised me to believe Muggles and Muggleborns were nothing more than the scum on our shoes. But—for lack of a better phrase—you took my breath away. Hermi—Granger, if Pansy hadn't pulled me away, I swear I would have swept you up right then and there."

Hermione's mouth fell open. Ron never said things like that to her. It's just the pain potions talking, she scolded herself. He doesn't know what he's saying. But she couldn't help herself as she thought back to that night. She remembered Ron completely blowing her off to save his pride, Viktor Krum saying a grand total of six words to her, and Draco, dressed splendidly in black dress robes, an actual smile on his face. And come to think of it, Hermione thought, I think he was watching me when I walked down the staircase.

She turned onto her side so she could face Draco, curling up against him. "Draco," she began, and he tensed at the sound of his first name. "Did you really think that? Or is this some crazy Slytherin head game?" She looked up at his face, focusing in his eyes.

Faster than what she thought possible, Draco turned on his side, his right arm under her head as he pressed her against him.

"Yes, Hermione," he said, using her name for what was most likely the first time. "I actually thought that." His breath brushed her ear, causing her to shiver.

Without thinking, Hermione smiled and closes her eyes, snuggling up to him. "Thank you," she murmured. "For saying that. And for saving me." When he didn't answer, she pushed herself up on her elbow and looked down at him. He had succumbed to the effects of the pain potion once more, a contented smile on his face and his arm around Hermione.

Carefully, Hermione slid out of the bed. She stood next to him, and hesitantly pressed her lips to his forehead.

"Feel better, Draco. I...I'm glad you were there today." And with that she left the room, a lump in her throat for no reason.

"Her...mio...ne," Draco muttered in his sleep, his hand fisting on the empty, still-warm sheets.

I had time to think it over

And all I can say is come closer

Take a deep breath and jump

Then fall into me

A.N.: First time publishing Dramione. Sorry for the lack of a kiss, but Hermione's with Ron (sadly), and I know that she's anything but disloyal. I wanted to write one in, but it didn't feel...right. Next time, I promise.

Lyrics are from Taylor Swift's "Jump Then Fall".

Thanks to Immortal Symphony for being an awesome beta, along with being awesome in general!