Between the Fall
Rating: E
Pairings: [Hermione x Draco]
Summary: "Maybe it's not always true love or wedding nights … Maybe it's the wrong boy, on a stormy night, in the backseat of an old car. Or atop the back table of an old library. Their story isn't new." Canon-compliant, HBP Dramione. Inspired by Allen Watts's 'Falling in love.'
Warnings: Underage sex (Draco's 16, Hermione's 17) with explicit smut. Loss of virginity. Recreational (potion) drug use. Swearing. Toxic relationship with an unredeemed Draco and very flawed Hermione (slightly OOC). Dramione ending, but not typical HEA. Caveman!Ron
So, I basically packed a 200k+ word slow-burn into a short story. It was supposed to be a one-shot, but it ran away from me, and well … this is the result.
Canon-compliant. There's a direct excerpt from HBP, and other quotes used throughout. Unfortunately, canon means epilogue and Cursed Child, too … meaning this is not a typical Dramione.
Inspired by the speech 'Falling in Love' by Allen Watts. Highly recommend the YT video "Alan Watts - Falling In Love / Life Lesson Motivation" by dawido. Each chapter loosely follows the quote starting it.
Chapter 1
"Well now really when we go back then to falling in love. And say, it's crazy. Falling. You see? We don't say 'rising into love'. There is in it, the idea of the fall ... "
xXx
January 12th, 1997
Hermione silently swears beneath her breath.
"Oh, er –"
She wishes for anything else at that moment: some drunken fourth years, a secret meeting of Umbridge's fan-club, hell – walking in on Snape and Trelawney snogging might be less awkward.
"Sorry … I didn't think anyone would be here," she stammers needlessly. As if many people spend Sunday nights hidden away in a bathroom.
It's a dreadful duet – picking up her jaw while simultaneously wiping away a tear. Swirling jealousy and images of Ron's lips on Lavender's neck quickly dissipate.
"Go away! SHOO! You aren't welcome here!"
Rather ironic that it's Moaning Myrtle who attacks Hermione with volatility and violence. The ghost scrunches her face; two transparent fists clench at either side as if they could actually cause damage.
Draco Malfoy stands near a sink, resembling something like an injured animal blinded by oncoming headlights. Tears decorate his face the same way they do hers.
"Piss off, Granger."
His words are half-hearted. Exhausted.
Hermione takes a step back.
"Right … okay. Sorry," she repeats. "I'll just go – "
But something catches her eye. Dark and twisted flesh dominates his inner forearm like neon hoardings beside the smallest byway.
"Malfoy …"
She can't look away as he tugs his sleeve down self-consciously.
"Stay the fuck back! Don't come any closer."
His wand flies up, pointing in her direction. Myrtle howls something in the background, and Hermione fights to ignore it.
"I already saw – "
"You think I give a shit?"
But the panic coating his face says 'yes.'
"I think we're both up at midnight … alone and crying. Probably for two very different reasons."
He shakes his head, sidestepping as she walks toward him.
"Fuck off, Granger. If you won't leave, I will – "
"Wait."
She thinks fast.
A memory flashes through her mind: the lamest lie in modern history, told to Burgin over the summer when they followed Malfoy in Knockturn alley.
"The thing is, that – er – boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he's a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present …"
A friend of mine.
An expression her mum employs helps formulate a plot.
'You catch more flies with honey than vinegar.'
When honey flows from Hermione's lips, she doesn't fight the lunacy of how it sounds.
"I can help."
She doesn't know what she's offering. But it sounds good, and for the slightest second, she swears a few muscles in his face relax.
"I don't want help from a Mudblood."
The word acts as a hand wrapping his throat. It's choked, forced.
"Mudblood, ghost, House-elf – you'd accept help from writings on a brick wall from the looks of it."
"You know nothing, Granger."
"I know, whatever it is … you're distraught."
But why? She needs to find out, to keep him there, to talk.
She plays into the human conviction. Anyone crying alone at midnight (to Myrtle of all people) needs a listening ear. Where are Crabbe and Goyle? Pansy? Surely Draco has others.
"Just … breathe for a second. What's going on?"
"Why in the world would I tell you?" asks Malfoy.
She lies. She lies because it's the only language he speaks.
"I won't tell anyone," Hermione promises, imagining fingers crossed. "Whatever it is, I swear."
He's quiet. Nothing but the sound of a dripping faucet and his feet moving towards her fills the air.
She's on the crux of a breakthrough. She can feel it. He's close now. Closer. Oh, god, too close.
But she forces her feet to stay planted.
Draco leans in, his breath hot against her ear as he whispers softly.
"I'd rather eat Hippogriff shit than spend another minute around you."
She stumbles back, his proximity foreign as the scent of expensive cologne fills her nostrils.
Malfoy storms away, but she notices his backward glance before exiting the bathroom.
Hermione hardly remembers Lavender and the tangle of jealousy now dissipating from behind her chest. She mulls over what just happened, walking back to Gryffindor's common room in sombre silence.
xXx
She means to tell Harry and Ron about what she saw. Really … she did.
But then doubt begins forming.
The plan will work better if she keeps his secret. The base of any good friendship is trust and loyalty, isn't it? She thinks of the Troll. Thinks of the many things she, Ron, and Harry kept hidden over the years.
With silence comes allegiance. And with allegiance comes information.
One week later, they speak again.
"Looks like we both have rounds tonight," she says casually.
Hermione convinced Evelyn Traves to switch her patrolling schedule to match Malfoy's with a bit of sweet-talking. He's been slacking on many things, (eating and sleeping topping the list) so she's thankful prefect patrol makes the cut for Monday night.
"What a coincidence," says Draco sarcastically, walking towards a staircase leading to the second floor.
He's walking so fast, she practically sprints.
"I haven't told Harry or Ron about … you know."
"Congratulations, Granger. Would you like a medal to display beside your prefects' badge?"
"Sure. I seem to remember you having a rather gifted proclivity towards badge making."
He glowers in her direction.
"Go away."
"Malfoy, wait – stop walking so fast."
"No."
"If you'd just listen –"
"No."
"I want to help!"
"No." He spins to face her. "You don't. You want to play hero and saviour –"
"If you'd just stop and listen –"
"You want to help? Fine. Fuck off and jump off the covered bridge to your fucking death. While you're at it – take Potter and Weasley with you. A triple funeral for you three would really cheer this place up."
She's convinced herself not to let anything get to her …
But something snaps.
"Well. In that case – let's quadruple it. Choke on your morning pumpkin juice tomorrow, Malfoy. Your slow asphyxiation would bring the Great Hall absolute glee – "
"In that case, I'll try my hardest to take massive gulps with each mouthful of porridge. Like the way Weasley eats everything."
"Fine."
"Fine."
xXx
Hermione scolds herself later, questioning her ability to accomplish such an insane task. Malfoy … telling her anything?
Ridiculous.
But this is bigger than bickering and bullying and being the bigger person. This is lives at stake, their lives – their world – teetering on the brink of oncoming war.
She needs information.
Hermione tries cornering him on three separate occasions. Outside the dungeons (while Harry and Ron are at quidditch practise), in the courtyard (when no one's around), and again during prefect patrols. Each interaction proves equally useless, but rising frustration breeds determination.
She finds herself studying him like an almanac, trying to predict the future's dark forecast.
She's the last one out of their Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom when he corners her.
"Stop staring at me," hisses Draco, speaking like she's vermin. "People are going to get ideas."
"I wasn't."
It's a lie.
"What do you want, Granger?"
"I told you already."
"We're not friends."
"We could be," she says, hopeful.
Stupid.
"No. We can't be."
"Fine … not friends – helpers. You help me. I help you."
Malfoy narrows his gaze. Almost as if he trusts it.
"What's in it for you?"
Good question.
"Well … I was thinking –"
"Is there a problem?"
They both jump back (as if caught doing something more intimate than discussing their unlikely friendship).
Snape looms in the doorway of the classroom, dark eyes flashing between them.
"No," says Draco. "No problem at all."
In a flash of black robes, he's gone, halfway down the corridor without another glance.
"Miss Granger," Snape says before she can follow. "Whatever you may be doing – it is … unwise."
"I don't know what you're talking about."
She wears the fakest smile.
"While the bewildered-schoolgirl look might be a popular feature of your Gryffindor housemates – it really doesn't suit you, Miss Granger."
Hermione swallows roughly.
"Sorry … I didn't realize talking outside a classroom became an illicit act. Must have missed the Umbridge-inspired proclamation."
She waits for him to deduct points, or perhaps a worse punishment, but all he does is look down his nose.
"I'll see you in class next week … Oh and, Granger – "
She turns around.
" – he's right, you know. People will talk … You're about as inconspicuous as an erumpent."
xXx
Hermione doesn't know if it's Snape's doing or Draco's own judgment, but he trusts her even less now.
She sneaks into Myrtle's bathroom, hoping to catch him in the act of … something? She doesn't know; she's going mad. It's the only explanation for what she does – dragging him into an abandoned classroom the following morning.
"My fucking – stop! Let go of me! Do you have any idea what people will think if they just saw that?"
"Relax. No one was around."
"You're mental –"
"You look horrible, Malfoy."
Horrible isn't the right word. It's a haunting type of appearance like he's slowly trying to transfigure into Myrtle's likeness. He's skinnier than ever, and his planeness isn't from overcast skies.
"Pity. I was going to apply for Witch Weekly's next cover feature and – do you really think I fucking care?"
"Can you say one thing, just one, without cursing at me?"
"You are a curse on my life, Granger."
"That was good. A lovely start."
He glares. "Is there a point to this?"
"Yes … I'm worried about you." More honey, even though his response is vinegar.
"Why? We hate each other."
"Because …" Nothing feels right, and something's going on, and not knowing anything drives her mad. "You're … somebody else –"
"You know what I am."
She looks at the floor.
"I haven't told Harry … haven't told anyone."
"I know."
"You think it's a weakness – asking for help … It's not. It's a strength."
"I'm going to be late for class."
He's gone before she can tell him she knows he has a free period.
xXx
A month passes. She's plotting deeper, holding a fast-tracked ticket toward the realm of obsession.
A form of empathy forms behind her chest, and she doesn't like it. It's the type that makes her watch him in the Great Hall, study his every step, calculate and predict his moves.
Harry is doing the same thing, in his own way. He doesn't notice anything amiss, and she tries her hardest to change the subject when Malfoy comes up.
She needs to ramp up her plan. Harry's lurking and utter carelessness will cost them both.
It's sneaky, what she does ...
Wrong, too. Salazar Slytherin himself might shake her hand before wiping his off and muttering a slur.
The hustle and bustle inside their Transfiguration class works to her advantage that day.
She watches Draco walk up to the front of the classroom, memorizing his scroll's location within the pile of essays atop McGonagall's desk. She walks up after him, glancing around to make sure no one is watching.
Hermione slips Malfoy's essay inside her school bag before casually walking back to her seat, unnoticed.
After the bell rings, she runs up to her dorm, closing the curtains around her bed before reading the stolen, unsubmitted assignment.
It's good. Not quite 'O' worthy, but at least a 'A,' if not 'E'.
It's infuriating … he's intelligent. Brilliant at certain things. She's noticed – noticed years ago. He's throwing it away, and for what? For choices and causes that causes sleeplessness?
The following day, McGonagall requests Draco stay after class. Hermione eavesdrops, ear pressed to the classroom door after everyone is dismissed.
"Mister Malfoy, you do understand the severity of this … The assignment is worth one-hundred points."
Draco's confused, insisting he turned the essay in. McGonagall hears none of it.
"Well, it didn't just spurt legs and run off." Then comes another disappointed remark, "You and I both know this isn't the first time."
A pang of guilt rushes through Hermione, and she's unsure why, considering Draco's done much worse to people.
"You have until tomorrow to turn the assignment in for partial-credit. You may go."
xXx
She's ecstatic when the plan works.
Hermione channels her final shreds of inner-Slytherin when she finds him alone in the library later that night.
"What are you doing up this late?" Hermione asks, knowing exactly why he's there.
"Leave me alone."
His voice sounds depleted. No energy to fight her this time.
"I went back after Transfiguration to ask McGonagall something … I overheard you two talking."
He huffs, not looking up.
"I see it, you know," she says softly. "Your marks used to be excellent. I can – "
"If you say the word 'help,' one more fucking time."
She takes a risk, sits in the seat beside him.
"You're floundering, Malfoy. Your marks are falling, and if they go much lower, you could risk expulsion –"
"You think I don't know that!"
He's wild. Not like in years past. Like a dog that hasn't eaten in days, ready to bite the hand of its master.
"Let me help," she implores. "Just … pretend I'm pureblood and worthy of your precious time, if you must."
"I wouldn't waste my time on you, even if you were pureblood."
"You'd want to."
She doesn't know what it's supposed to mean, but the insinuation shuts him up. There's a lull, and for the slightest moment, she could swear his eyes dart down to her lips.
It's late. Her mind's running away.
Hermione grabs his transfiguration book.
"Hey –"
"Will you shut up and take my olive branch already."
He looks at her, confused. She forgets it a Muggle expression.
"You can't write a decent essay in one night without help," she provides a simpler explanation instead.
"I wrote it already," he says bitterly. "McGonagall just fucking lost it."
"Really?" she feigns astonishment. "Doesn't surprise me ... She's been a distracted mess all year."
Hermione says a silent apology for the unfair remark, but it does its job. He lets her skim the re-written essay unnecessarily, already knowing its content.
"For starters … regarding the complications of human to animal transfiguration, you need to include organ displacement. There's a perfect example here – a wizard swapped his heart for venom glands. You simply must use this quote."
His glare could curl paint. But he doesn't tell her to leave.
xXx
He's there the following day, at the same table, tucked away in the back corner of the library. He looks up when she approaches.
"I did that Charms homework weeks ago … You want to see?"
She's already let Harry and Ron copy it – what's the harm?
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, taking the completed assignment as she sits down.
"Because you need a fucking friend, Malfoy."
"I thought goody-two-shoes Granger doesn't cuss?"
"Maybe there's a lot we don't know about each other."
He snorts. "That's an understatement."
She looks down at the table, studying the initials carved into the wood and a particularly large scratch down the middle.
"I'm free next Friday, same time …" she says after an hour spent over homework, packing up her books. "I can tutor you – help get your grades up."
"And why would you do that?"
"Maybe you were right," she muses, bag slung over one should. "Maybe I like playing God and Saviour."
"And what do I play?" he muses, as if thinking aloud to himself. "The saved? I don't need your charity – "
"No." She's caught off guard when their eyes meet. "But you do need help."
xXx
Hermione's sitting in the Gryffindor common room with Harry and Ron when the pop of apparition startles them.
Hermione shrieks and Ron spills ink all over the essay she's helping him with.
"Kreacher!" greets Harry.
"Master said he wanted regular reports on what the Malfoy boy is doing, so Kreacher has come to give –"
Crack.
Dobby appears, standing beside Kreacher.
"What is this?" Hermione demands, horrified. "What's going on, Harry?"
"Well …" Harry tugs his jumper nervously. "They've been following Malfoy for me."
"Night and day," croaks Kreacher.
"Dobby has not slept for a week, Harry Potter."
She's outraged, but Harry ignores her indignancy, asking if they'd found anything.
Hermione might be sick. At the prospect of Harry utilizing house-elf slavery and how it'll look if she has to explain her staying in the library to help Draco write essays or do charms homework.
"Master Malfoy moves with a nobility that befits his pureblood," croaks Kreacher. "His features recall the fine bones of my mistress, and his manners are those –"
"Draco Malfoy is a bad boy!" says Dobby. "A bad boy who – who –"
He's running towards the fire, but Harry catches him around the middle.
"Thank you, Harry Potter. Dobby still finds it difficult to speak ill of his old masters …"
Hermione grows nauseous.
"We don't need to hear about you being in love with Malfoy," Harry tells Kreacher. "Fast-forward to what he's actually been doing."
The explanation is long-winded, but eventually Harry shots, "The Room of Requirement!" while positively beaming.
"Malfoy got into our headquarters there last year," says Harry, energized. "I'll be able to get in and spy on him, no problem."
"But I don't think you will, Harry," says Hermione after thinking about it. "Malfoy already knew exactly how we were using the room – because stupid Marietta had blabbed. He needed the room to become the headquarters of the D.A. so it did … But you don't know what the room becomes when Malfoy goes in there, so you don't know what to ask it to transform into."
"They'll be away around that," says Harry dismissively.
She's annoyed, pursing her lips and not saying anything until Harry and Ron begin discussing Crabbe and Goyle's behaviour in detail.
"He's got Crabbe and Goyle transforming into girls?" asks Ron. "Blimey … no wonder they don't look too happy these days … I'm surprised they don't tell him to stuff it."
"Well, they wouldn't, would they," says Harry. "If he's shown them his dark mark?"
"Hmm …" says Hermione. "The dark mark we don't know exists."
It's that, right there – the moment an omission becomes an outright lie.
But she needs Harry to back off. His blatant brutality and stalking might scare off Malfoy. Blow her cover, wreck any progress already made.
"We'll see," says Harry.
She gets to her feet.
"Yes, we will … But Harry, before you get all excited, I don't think you'll be able to get into the room of requirement without knowing what's there first. And I don't think you should forget – what you're supposed to be concentrating on is getting that memory from Slughorn."
She'll focus on getting the information from Malfoy.
With or without help.
xXx
A/N: Final scene is straight from HBP. All credit goes to its rightful author.
Slow start, but I promise the following chapters will be more eventful. More to come soon! Big thanks to Maro (Phinoa) for reading through/helping with this impromptu story that I wrote months ago and am finally getting around to posting ...