Coalescing by 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~