# Coalescing

Bambu

Rating: PG
Genres: Drama, Romance
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 5
Published: 08/04/2005
Last Updated: 08/04/2005
Status: Completed

An explosive encounter between Draco Malfoy and Hermoine lead to unexpected results.

## 1. Coalescing

Title: Coalescing

Author: Bambu

Pairing: Harry/Hermione

Rating: All Ages

Spoilers: OotP

Warnings: Some violence and mentions of character deaths

Disclaimer: The characters and universe of Harry Potter are the JK Rowling’s intellectual property. I’m merely taking them for a Firebolt ride. We’ll be home after we catch the snitch.

AN: I woke up with this confrontation in my mind, and I hadn’t a moment’s peace until I sat down and wrote it. I have never written this particular ship before. But this little story just began to haunt me, so I gave in.

~o0o~

The day that Harry and I became more than best friends was the day that I had an epiphany. The strange thing was that my moment of clarity wasn’t even about Harry. Not really. It wasn’t about how endearing his face looked in the morning when he came down to the common room with his hair mussed and his brilliant green eyes sleep-fogged. It wasn’t that he’d finally begun to take his classes seriously – after years of nagging -- absorbing magical knowledge like a sponge, soaking up bits of arcane and practical teaching, wringing the excess from his mind and retaining the most important information for our use and his survival. It wasn’t that I suddenly noticed the way his body had lengthened, broadened and tightened into the frame of a slender man with wiry muscles and vibrant energy. And it wasn’t that the light in the library cast a radiant glow to his narrow, handsome face as we would study with Ron, and he would occasionally give me that heart-melting smile of his… the one reserved especially for me. The smile that made me catch my breath and still my racing heart.

Oddly enough, the turning point in our relationship was the day that I realized that Draco Malfoy was not merely my academic rival, but was truly my mortal enemy.

For seven long years, I had attempted to be the best witch I could possibly be. From the moment a barn owl flew into my parents’ morning room, laden with a letter from Hogwarts, lurid green ink addressed to Miss Hermione Jane Granger, Morning Room, Red House, Canterbury, Kent, I had been wholly consumed with learning everything there was to know about the wizarding world. My parents, generous to a fault, had supported my rampant enthusiasm, and, to the day of their deaths, had never regretted their decision to let me enter this world. My early eagerness to spread whatever knowledge I gleaned in an exuberant attempt to share the wonders of this new world, to prove that I belonged in the rarified atmosphere of Scotland’s Hogwarts castle, coupled with my tendency toward bossiness, had left me relatively friendless in my first year. After Harry and Ron had saved me from that terrifying troll in the girls loo, I’d found friends… and later that same year, I’d discovered blind prejudice.

I was an idealist. I somehow believed that if I could simply be the epitome of a good witch, then Malfoy and his pureblooded cronies would have to admit that Muggleborns weren’t inferior. I’d hoped that over the years, beyond the parties in Slytherin to celebrate my potential death, underneath the continuing taunts, sneers and shoves, that Malfoy – whom I knew to be more than passably intelligent – would use his brain and finally recognize what was so obviously in front of him. I wasn’t the only Muggleborn who achieved high marks at school. In fact, with three exceptions, the top twenty students at Hogwarts weren’t pureblooded wizards and witches.

My hopes were dashed one gloriously beautiful day in mid-June of my seventh, and final, year. Our NEWTs were behind us, and the only remaining academic requirement for the graduating class of 1998 was to complete and deliver our final year’s projects for the classes we’d specialized in. Being an overachiever, and truthfully, wanting to work on any advantage I could find that would contribute to Harry surviving his coming confrontation with the utterly mad Tom Riddle, I had tackled three Seventh Year Projects: Abstract Transfiguration, Elusive Charms and Modifying Potions.

My cold dip into the ocean of reality happened in the corridor outside the Potions classroom. Malfoy was departing as I arrived carrying a furlough of parchment tightly scrolled into a thick tube of data and results. I had modified an existing Strengthening Potion to enhance the density and concentration of the Protego shielding spell. None, besides Professors Snape and Dumbledore -- and the boys of course -- knew of my study. It was going toward the protection of the members of the Order of the Phoenix, into which I’d been inducted the night of my eighteenth birthday.

I hadn’t seen Malfoy in over a week, and, before that, infrequently as our classes didn’t coincide. As he exited the classroom, his face was relaxed, and a broad smile graced his mouth. He was a beautiful man. His platinum hair, similar to his father’s, cascaded over his shoulders in a shiny spill of pale beauty that caused more than one witch to sigh with envy, and desire to run their fingers through its silken strands. His grey eyes were sparkling with silver glints, their hue a barometer to his stormy and changeable nature. The smile that altered his features from the pointed, pinched face with which I was so familiar dropped immediately when he spotted me, returning him to the arrogant wizard I knew.

“Mudblood,” he sneered with a curl of his lip, as if he’d just stepped in something that clung with malodorous tenacity to his dragon hide boot.

I couldn’t help myself, I had to try one last time. It hurt me to know that my presence could alter a human being’s features so rapidly, and I opened my mouth before I could give it the second thought.

“Draco Malfoy, you are the most infuriatingly trenchant wizard I’ve ever met. You’re intelligent, prosperous, and hold a significant place in this society. Can’t you look beyond the ridiculous prejudices you’ve clung to for the past seven years to see that I am not your enemy. That Muggleborns and Half-bloods are not your enemies. Think inclusion rather than exclusion. No one wants to take anything from you. We merely want to find our own places in this world.”

Apparently, anything I would have to say was fuel for his ire. It seemed that receiving top marks for his Seventh Year Project and graduating in the top five percent of our class wasn’t enough.

WHACK!

I was completely unprepared for a physical assault. Pain exploded in my face and flashes of light rocketed in my head. My cheek was struck with such force that my head hit the unforgiving plinth of the wall, scraping my other check on the roughened texture of the stone. I’d never been struck in the face before, and I’d certainly never expected the noble scion of a pureblood wizarding family to soil his hands with physical assault.

I was wrong.

The coppery taste of blood filled my mouth and I choked out a half-scream, half-moan of pain, and then he was on me, shoving me against the wall with such force that the triumphant end-results of months worth of hard work flew from my grasp even as my head thudded against the hard stone behind me. I felt the roughed nodules of rock pressing into my back where I would find their corresponding bruises a week later.

In my shocked state, the hours of DA training took over and I snapped my wrist, releasing my wand into my hand. Power answered power as I began to summon my strength to repel Malfoy’s vicious attack. It was then that I began to hear the words pouring from his mouth, as if he’d stored them up for years, waiting for this opportunity.

“Jumped-up Mudblood bitch… Think you can come in here and show us something… you’re nothing… An aberration, a mutant… It’s time to cull the herd… Are my enemy…” Each panting phrase was punctuated with a shove. My head ached with the continual, percussive jolts against the rock. His eyes were hard, an unyielding charcoal grey of anger and hate. “No pureblood wizard would ever taint themselves with the likes of you… I can’t wait to meet you on the field of honor… Then we’ll see who belongs… You’re a freak of nature… Training for years… Can’t wait to show you your place… In the ground… You have no idea what you’re up against… Filth!”

The stream of hatred went on, but my brain was coming to grips with the undeniable fact that his mind, that beautiful receptacle of intelligence and intuition, was stunted and shackled and there were some things in life that would never change. In those few moments before I took action, my entire universe shifted its axis. I’d thought that I’d learned to recognize an effort in futility with my abandoned attempt to free house-elves – the Headmaster called it maturity – but it seemed that, until this moment, I hadn’t really embraced the concept. I’d held out hope that Malfoy might honestly look beyond the racist rhetoric he’d listened to from the day he was born and think for himself.

It was a graphic lesson in wishful thinking.

The loss of an illusion affects people in different ways. I was frozen, watching the macabre unraveling of a rosy-eyed ideal, as if I were outside myself. I was dizzy and the blood from my cut lip was dripping down my chin and onto my robes. In the last moment in which a Malfoy would ever touch me – even that last day of the final battle when he crumpled in a lifeless husk before my eyes -- Draco backhanded me. It was surreal, the fraction of a second before I defended myself, my blood sprayed outward in an arc – the bright red globules were homogenous, pureblood, half-blood and Muggleborn alike – splattering against his pristine white linen shirt and across his face.

His reaction was instantaneous. He shrieked and backed away from me, clawing at his skin as if my blood was an acid eating away at his flesh. I witnessed, first hand, the corrosive effects of entrenched belief, and watched, fascinated, as the Malfoy heir ripped his now tainted clothing from his body: robes, tie, shirt.

In the background, I could hear shouting and shrieking, but I couldn’t tear my eyes from Draco’s actions. He was using the back of his shirt, stain-free, to scrub at his face, in an attempt to erase any reminder of my taint. He was beyond reason, and I was unaccountably frightened and yet mesmerized by the fact that he was essentially flaying his own skin in an effort to rid himself of my blood. I knew then, and later it was confirmed, that was the very day Draco Malfoy turned to meet his fate, and let the Dark Mark take him. It would consume him.

But that day in the corridor, I watched hate curdle into a lethal thing, and the Malfoy heir raised his wand in my direction. Before I could open my mouth or he could complete the curse that would end my life, dual shouts overrode his voice, “Stupefy!” “Expelliarmus!”

Jets of green and red shot down the hallway, their aim straight and true. Malfoy was flung across the corridor, his rigid body toppling to the floor, his wand clattering to the stones worn smooth by generations of magical students.

Severus Snape and Harry Potter had saved my life. My Muggleborn life. My throat was tight and I don’t think I could have spoken if I’d tried. Harry ran toward me from the other end of the hall, his face naked and vulnerable. It probably matched mine.

Professor Snape was nearer, and he passed me to reach the fallen student of his House. I’d never seen him look so old. The lines on his face were deeper than ever before, and his lips were pinched so tightly that they were bloodless. He moved as if he was hurt, but I’d seen him suffer the after-effects of Cruciatus before and this wasn’t it. No, this was something far worse. He’d hoped to persuade Draco to a different path, and this confrontation had simply confirmed his growing fear that he’d failed. He’d hoped to save one of his Slytherins, just one of those who had been set on their path of destruction as toddlers. But he knew, as did we, that where Draco Malfoy led, Slytherin would follow. And he had his answer. We knew now what path Lucius’ son would take. I wanted to hug the saturnine wizard who’d come to mean so much to me, but I knew he wouldn’t welcome my sympathy.

Instead, I let Harry wrap me in his arms, and hold me close. I didn’t want him to let go… ever. I buried my face in his neck and let his familiar smell – broomstick oil overlaid with some indefinable scent that was uniquely Harry -- soothe me. We’d been friends for so many years, and he’d begun to be increasingly protective of me since the attack at the Department of Mysteries our fifth year, but now his arms weren’t holding me in a platonic, it’s-all-between-buddies sort of way. Instead, he was holding me in the possessive caressing manner of a man who has been badly frightened by the potential loss of the woman that he loves.

“Gods, Hermione… Oh, gods.” Harry kept repeating that refrain while stroking my unruly hair. I raised my head to look into his face, his tear-streaked face, and my heart expanded and pounded. It wasn’t from the adrenaline rush and it wasn’t residual fear.

The harsh voice of our Potions Professor and Occlumency tutor broke into our absorption with each other. “Potter, take Miss Granger to the hospital. I will see to Mr. Malfoy.” The pain in his voice couldn’t be masked, and for a long moment, Harry and Snape looked at each other. They’d stopped being enemies at some point our sixth year, and had become – never friends – but colleagues. It hadn’t happened through their interactions in class, but as we had learned, in greater detail, about the sacrifices the dour wizard had made to redeem himself and to fight for our lives, they’d learned to respect one another. I’d always had a value for him, if only because he’d saved Harry’s life on more than one occasion.

“Yes, sir. C’mon, Hermione, let’s go.”

I let him lead me from out of the dungeons and away from my poorly illuminated, last illusion. I carefully stepped around the immobile body of Draco Malfoy, his blond hair fanned out in a white aureole around his head. Harry paused before stepping over the prone form of his nemesis. He’d long ceased to regret finding a way to befriend Malfoy, but I noticed the muscles in his jaw working as he controlled his desire to redress the Slytherin’s offense. In one way or another, the losses and gains of a ten-minute confrontation would be felt for the rest of our lives.

Harry didn’t say anything to me until we topped the final flight of stairs leading to Madam Pomfrey’s domain. Then he turned toward me, his face angry and worried. “Why didn’t you stop Malfoy, Hermione? You know how. We’ve been training for three bloody years! He was going to kill you! Shite!” His tone took on a slightly bewildered tone, as if the reality of what had just happened had finally sunk in.

And it had… for both of us. I shuddered and spoke for the first time in fifteen minutes. “My God! Is that what it feels like?” He just looked at me uncomprehendingly. So I continued, the need to explain forced my words to trip over themselves as they rushed out of my mouth. “I’ve always stood by your side, Harry, and I always will. But it’s a different thing to face some malignant creature who wants to kill your best friend, or who puts me on their ‘most wanted’ list because I’m your friend. Harry, Malfoy wanted to kill me. Not just anyone who happened to have been born to Muggle parents. But, me… he wanted to kill me. It was personal… and horrible.”

I shuddered again, and Harry pulled me tightly to him. His head tilted so that his cheek was pressing against my hair, and his hand stroked my hair again, as his other arm pulled me closer to him, as if his protection would banish the harsh reality facing us. I wasn’t quite finished. “Oh, dear Lord, Harry. Malfoy was really going to kill me.”

And, then, suddenly I knew, absolutely knew, how Harry’d felt all of these years, being the focal point of some mad wizard’s lethal intentions. And I also knew that I would never let it happen. I would never relinquish Harry to Voldemort’s predations.

“I wouldn’t let him, Hermione… he’ll never come near you again.” His voice cracked rather endearingly on the last word and he flushed.

And my epiphany was complete. Initiated by the understanding that Harry and I shared more than our Muggle upbringing, more than our joint aspirations to become Aurors and more than our close friendship, I now intimately understood what it was like to have someone desire my death. It was unnerving, but it had brought me the revelation of my greatest gift. Harry’s love. Harry was in love with me. How could I have not noticed it before? Had I been so afraid that he didn’t feel for me what I did for him that I wouldn’t take the risk? Perhaps I should thank Malfoy, because without the sudden and irrevocable realization that life can be extinguished in a minute… or ten, I’m not certain Harry and I would have come to our understanding so soon. We were each afraid of destroying our friendship and wouldn’t take the irrevocable step to something more. But acknowledgment of those feelings had been thrust in our faces by the unreasoning hatred of an enemy.

The look on Harry’s face said it all. His green eyes shone like gemstones, the depth in their expression was above price. “Hermione, I…”

Sparkles of joy overrode the benumbed shock that my system had been experiencing and I gave him a crooked smile, interrupting him with my need to express my acceptance of his love, not wanting to wait another second before we grabbed our fate with all four hands. “Oh, Harry. You really do have a ‘saving people’ thing.”

And before he could take offense at my words, I leaned up and kissed him, split lip and all. He didn’t seem to mind.

~o0o~