Disclaimer:
Does anyone ever even read these things? Oh fine, sheesh, I don’t own Harry
Potter. There. Satisfied?
A/N: I’m not
exactly satisfied with this story, but it’ll have to do until I get a stroke of
inspiration.
It had been
a beautiful day, which was ironic really, because what happened afterwards was
anything but beautiful or maybe it was and she was just missing the whole point
and in retrospect she supposed it was beautiful only it took seven years to
recognize it. Seven long years spent shaking and hating the day until she was
finally finally over it.
Finally over
it.
Finished.
Clean.
Done with it
all.
But it had
been such a beautiful day. The sky had been all blue, the kind of crisp blue
that looks so pretty but you almost never see until the weather is too cold for
you to enjoy it, a lovely blue she wished she could take and pull down here so
she could hug it to herself until she absorbed some of that beauty from it.
The weather
had been perfect, just the faintest hint of a breeze to tease the wisps of hair
poking out from under her hat, to tug at them and whisper gentle fantasies
about escaping to them until she realized that her ponytail was suddenly
nonexistent.
The sun had
been not too sunny and not too dark, with wisps of white cloud floating around
it gently, not too slowly, not too fast, and in other words, perfect.
Hermione had
thought it was perfect for reading.
The others
had thought it perfect for flying.
So they all
trooped out with their brooms in their hands, laughing and chatting animatedly
with one another, Harry, Ron, Fred, George, Ginny—even Malfoy, who had had been
forced to stay with them for the summer due to his unexpected rebellion against
You-Know-Who.
Not that he
was ever up to chatting animatedly with them, but at least he had what passed
for a smile on his face and he was clutching
his broom with anticipation.
And then, of
course, she had been asked to play. Again. As usual.
“Her-mi-oh-nee!
Come play with us!” that was Ron, soaring and swooping on his broom.
“Yeah Mione,
you never fly.” That was Harry, who was performing a truly stupendous maneuver
on his Firebolt, figure-eights and loop-de-loops while upside down.
Did it never occur to you that maybe
I have a reason too?
“No, I think
I’ll just sit down and read. It’s the new edition of Hogwarts, A History and you know how much I’ve been looking forward
to reading it. It has a completely new section on the Founders. Why, did you
know that Rowena Ravenclaw was actually born in—”
Her boys
groaned as she knew they would and prepared to swoop off on their brooms, only
this time something went wrong with her ploy.
“Actually,
Granger, that’s not the new edition.”
She froze
and turned around. Malfoy. The bloody ferret had to come interfering again.
“Yes, it
is,” she insisted.
“How would
you know, Malfoy?” asked Ginny rather belligerently.
“Because,”
he said. “I’ve read all the editions, and that’s only the second one.”
Everyone,
even Hermione, gaped at him.
“You’ve what?” the squawk came from Ron, who
looked rather amusing with his jaw hanging open like that. “Bloody hell, I
thought only Mione was crazy enough—sorry, Mione!—to do that!”
Malfoy
ignored the outburst and continued gazing calmly at the flustered Gryffindor.
“So tell me, Granger,” he said conversationally, “why are you so afraid of
flying that you, the noble Gryffindor, has resorted to lying to get out of it?”
She stared
at him. No. This was not happening. This could not be happening. It wasn’t it
wasn’t it wasn’t it wasn’t. No no no no no no no no.
Mutely she
shook her head, slowly at first, then more frantically, back and forth, her
brown curls flying, a horrified denial, no no no no no, as he looked
unconvinced.
“No.” She
tried to sound nonchalant, firm, but her voice betrayed her and it came out as
the faintest of hoarse whispers, strangled and twisted inside.
He stepped a
little closer, and she backed up until she hit the tree, gasping, her eyes
wide, and it was going dark and no no no no no no no no she was NOT going to
faint and this wasn’t happening and she couldn’t she couldn’t she couldn’t’ she
couldn’t.
“Mione?”
Harry’s concerned voice sounded miles away, fuzzy, distorted, as though he were
speaking outside some great bubble which grew from the desperate need inside
her and blossomed around her until the only things in the world was her book,
the tree, and Malfoy.
No no no no
no no.
“What’s
wrong, Granger?” he asked, and if she didn’t know better, she would have
thought it was actually concerned, but she did and he wasn’t and this was too
too scary and she wanted to run away and hide under her covers because she’d
been a good little girl hadn’t she and why was this happening and no no no no
no she was so so scared and no she’d been a good little girl and she’d done
everything right so why was this happening please please it’s scary let me out
and I want to go hide under the bed only I can’t and there is no bed to hide
under and please!
“It’s all
right, Granger,” he said. “I’m not going to hurt you.”
Eyes wide
and it’s all scary and dark and please don’t hurt me—
She heard
some one screaming, screaming and screaming and screaming, a terrible sound
that was barely human, a sort of hoarse cry of an animal that’s being wounded,
and she wants it to stop, to all go away, and everything’s falling in on her
again and stop the screaming! And the screaming screaming screaming—
Something
breaks the screams, the hoarse terrible mantra, and she looks wildly around to
find what it is and then she breaks up from the sea of cries to find she’s
huddled on someone’s lap, and someone is holding her protectively like he’s
never going to let go and saying, “Granger. Granger. Granger. Granger. Granger. Snap out of it!”
“Merlin,
Granger. What happened?”
And it all
comes rushing back in now, and she doesn’t want it too, but it is it is it is.
She was six or was she seven she
can’t remember she doesn’t want to remember she kept it all under lock and key
for so long, shut it up in a little drawer and shoved it far far away—
And he was big with long yellow hair
tied back, yellow like the yellow in her paint set that Rose in her class has,
bright bright yellow and eyes that look almost red!—and –
She was alone, she was a bad little
girl, she was bad bad bad bad bad she went without her mommy and daddy and now
she’s alone in a little dark alley and she wants to go home so bad and go hide
under her bed but she doesn’t know where it is—
And because she was so bad she needed
to be punished, because mommy and daddy weren’t there to do it for her and if
they weren’t there someone had to do it and he was there—
And now he’s ripping off her skirt
and she’s screaming but no one’s listening and she wants her mommy because it
HURTS so bad—
And now her shirt is off and she
remembers it’s her favorite shirt with a rainbow and a unicorn on it and now
she doesn’t want to see it ever again—
And he’s jerking her hands up behind
her against the wall
He’s lifting her up
Higher and higher and higher and
higher he’s so tall tall tall he’s a big man
Her feet can’t reach the ground
Nothing solid underneath, just air
air air she can’t even see the ground
So high up
So very high
And he’s pinning her to the wall by
her throat and it hurts to breathe
He’s pulling down his pants
MOMMY! MOMMY! MOMMY! It hurts so so
bad, it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts it hurts—
And now there’s blood all over the
alley, it’s running down her legs warm bright red blood and it’s seeping down
and trickling and oh mommy it hurt
Where were you
He lets go of her throat and she
drops back to the earth with a THUD and it hurts so bad but she’s so happy now
because she’s on the ground and she’s on the ground and it’s going to be okay
now happy happy happy okay ground no heights anymore
And now he’s pushing her skirt back
on her with clumsy fingers
Doing the button
Pulling the shirt on over her head
Bit of blood on the shirt
Right on the unicorn’s horn
So he smears it and tugs at it
And now there’s a hole and the
unicorn isn’t a unicorn anymore but a bright red horse, red for blood, and it
all makes sense now
And he’s shoving her, pushing her
until she stumbles, out of the alley
Bright glinting white teeth next to
her ear, fresh breath hissing
“If you tell anyone about this,
there’ll be hell to pay,”
And then mommy’s running up to her
saying how worried she was
Where were you mommy? I needed you—
And her mommy hugs her tight and
she’s on the safe safe ground—
She snaps
back to herself and they’re all there crowded around her, Harry and Ron and
Fred and George and Ginny, all huddled around her, patting her back, soothing
her, whispering comforting nothings in her ear, and her cheeks are stained with
tears again and she’s being held by someone so warm and it feels so good and
right.
It’s Malfoy,
and his arms are so tight around her she thinks he’s never going to let go but
that’s okay because she doesn’t think she wants him to let go.
“Oh Granger.
Oh Granger,” he whispers over and over again, like it’s some kind of mantra
that’s going to protect her against every bad thing, and she thinks she likes
it.
Finally,
finally, the shuddering stops and she can sit still in his lap without shaking
and the tears have stopped coming.
“Granger?”
the tone is unhappy, but firm.
“What?”
she’s sniffling now, but she looks up anyway.
“You’re
going to have to learn how to fly.”
“No!”
“Yes. You
have to.” The tone is gentle, but firm.
She shakes
her head furiously. Why is he doing this? She trusted him! No no no no no no
she can’t.
But Harry is
nodding too, and so is Ron, and so are the rest of them, and why are they
turning on her she thought they were her friends and she can’t do this she
can’t she can’t she can’t—
“Granger. If
you don’t do this—look at me—” he cups her chin in his hand and won’t let her
look away even though she struggles, “you’ll go through life always afraid. And
you can’t let it beat you like that. You can’t.”
She shakes
her head again, but she is weakening.
“Granger.
Don’t you want to know what it’s like to fly? It’s the most wonderful feeling
ever. You fly through the air, and it feels so, so incredible, like nothing can
ever touch you again up there because it’s so pure ecstasy. It’s better than
any book can describe it. Pure joy. Like you’re a little bird soaring above all
the troubles on earth. And if you let that bastard kill your chance of
experiencing, I guess you’re not as smart as everyone thinks you are after
all.”
Clever of
him. Very clever of him to play on her Gryffindor pride like that.
But he has,
and she knows it.
She nods her
head.
“All right.”
It takes
time. Lots of time. The process is very slow. Excruciating, even. Each patient
step can be undone by a moment’s carelessness. Some days she takes one step
forward and two steps back. But then other days she takes three steps forward
and everyone cheers.
Everyone
encourages her.
She works on
it, starting by mounting on a broom to performing a simple slow dive.
And then
somedays she just wants to give up and bury her head in the covers.
But then
Malfoy pokes his annoying ferret face in and drives her out through sheer
exasperation, until she throws her hands up and mounts the frigging broom just
to shut him up.
And he never lets it go—
Until one
day she mounts her broom and realizes she isn’t scared of heights anymore. At
all.
