One-shot
On Edge
by Eilime

His knuckles were becoming white. His grip on the hard rock was loosening, yet there was nothing else to grab a hold on. Draco tried not to look down the cliff as he held on for dear life. He was hanging by the edge of his fingers now, his muscles vibrating with the effort of holding on.

Draco slowly put one foot to the rock wall, searching for somewhere to fasten his footing and maybe crawl back up. His foot slipped as small stones glided down the vertical cliff, and he was left dangling, holding on by his wish to live.

He could hear the sea crushing unceremoniously against the rocks bellow. The waves crashed imperviously with the stone, inviting him to their midst, but Draco would not give up hope. Somehow he would get up.

How he had got there, he couldn’t even remember, but he knew that when he got up �“ and he would get up �“ he would make the ones guilty pay.

His breath was shallow, sweat gleamed on his face as he tried desperately to maintain a firm grip and from there haul himself up. It was useless. There were no plants, no roots, no rocks or anything to grab a hold on, just the dusty earth of a despondent past.

Slow footsteps could be heard in the distance and Draco’s heart pounded in his throat. Salvation was near. He looked ahead but was blinded by the piercing sun. The footsteps remained the only sound except for his own ragged breath. The slow, monotonous sound seemed distant, yet as if it was just before him.

A silhouette appeared in the face of the sun, and Draco squinted his eyes to focus on the approaching form. As the outline of his inevitable saviour became clearer, Draco closed his eyes in silent exultation before opening them to take in the newcomer.

A girl in a flowing, white dress stood before him, her hands folded innocently in front of her and her feet positioned neatly at each other’s side. Her curly hair blew in the nonexistent wind and her vacant eyes searched his.

“Hello, Draco,” Hermione Granger said softly, seemingly contemplating his lethal position on the edge of the cliff.

“Granger?” Draco croaked in annoyance that it had to be her, agitation of holding himself up, and then that disposable feeling of relief.

“Yes.” She gave him a crooked smile. “Ironic it was going to be me who was going to save you, huh?”

“You knew I would be here?” he asked uncomprehendingly.

“Oh, yes,” she answered in a voice not her own. “Everyone knew.”

“Everyone?” Draco asked, confused.

“Yes, well, with the exception of those closest to you,” Hermione replied in a distant voice.

“I don’t understand,” Draco muttered, momentarily forgetting to maintain a firm grip on the edge, though, somehow, it didn’t seem to matter.

“There’s no need to,” Hermione assured him in a whisper. “We didn’t think you would.”

“Who’s ‘we’?” he asked, not getting anything out of her speech. “And how could everyone know I’m here?” Suddenly remembering where he was, he exclaimed, “And can we continue this lovely conversation when you’ve helped me out of certain death?”

“Don’t worry,” she replied, no emotion in her voice or in her demeanour. “You won’t fall. Not yet anyway.”

“What’s the matter with you?” he demanded, suddenly fed up with her indifference. “Why won’t you help me?”

“Don’t you understand?” she asked silently. “No one is able to help you. No one, but yourself.”

“I can’t, Granger!” Draco cried out. “I’ve tried.”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Yes, I have!” he responded indignantly. “You try getting yourself up from the edge of a cliff.”

“This is your cliff, Draco,” she replied. “You made it.”

“What in the name of Gorgons are you talking about?” he exclaimed.

“You can get up, Draco, you just have to try,” she went on.

“Try? Try?! I have tried!”

“No, you haven’t.”

“Oh, not this again!” he breathed furiously. “What do you want me to do? Stick a rocket up my arse and fly up?”

Hermione didn’t seem the least bit amused which tormented Draco even more. Instead, she carried on, “You can get up. Think, Draco. Muscles won’t help you here.”

“What are you? High?” he asked incredulously. “If I can’t use strength to get up, then what do I have?”

“Strength is another matter. Strength you need, but muscles you don’t,” she replied unhelpfully.

“Erm, Granger, for me muscles is equivalent to strength,” Draco pointed out to her.

“And that’s where you go wrong,” she muttered.

“I don’t �“ what �“ stop this ambiguous nonsense and tell me how to get up!” he practically yelled.

“I can’t tell you how.”

“But you know how. Right?”

“So do you,” she replied softly.

“What?!” he exclaimed, completely baffled. “I don’t �“ what are �“ Oh, just get the Hell away from my sight. You aren’t helping shit.”

Hermione didn’t answer, but slowly turned around and started to walk away. Suddenly gravity seemed to pull Draco down and his fingers scratched across the rock ground, gliding towards the edge.

“Granger, wait!” he cried out. “Come back!”

He saw her turn back towards him and walk in the same slow pace as before. Draco’s grip got a better hold on the edge and he quickly moved his hands a bit further in.

“Help me, please,” he pleaded, exhausted.

“You do need help,” Hermione observed. “But I’m not the one to help you.”

“Yes, you can! Just take hold of my arms and pull!”

“You’re too far away,” she explained.

“Then walk closer,” he replied, resisting the urge to roll his eyes.

“No, you’re too far away,” she repeated.

“Granger, put your right foot in front of you, then the left and then the right again!” he exclaimed. “It’s called walking, Mudblood.”

His fingers gave out, and sharp stones tore at his flesh as his hands slid towards the edge.

He let out a desperate cry. “Granger, please! Help me!” He managed to hold on by the mere tips of his fingers, not even having the strength to look up at her and give her a sincere look of pleading.

“I can’t reach you.” She spoke softly from somewhere in front of him.

“I don’t understand,” Draco choked out. He was desperate, there was no need to deny it, and he felt on the verge of tears.

“It’s okay, Draco,” Hermione said softly. “You don’t need to understand yet. You need to let go.”

“Are you insane?! I’ll die!” She was no help at all. She was just standing there, enjoying seeing him suffer.

“Yes. You will.”

“Oh, so this is just some ‘Let’s finally get rid of Malfoy quest’?” he asked incredulously.

“Yes,” she answered, and Draco snorted. “But not Draco,” she continued.

“What?” he asked, dumbfounded. “Seriously, what are you on?”

“Draco, we can help you,” she replied, apparently disregarding his question. “You just need to get up before it’s too late.”

“It’ll be a lot later if you just stand there and do nothing!”

“I told you, I can’t reach you; you’re too far away,” she replied softly.

“I’m right here!” he cried out.

“You need to part with yourself,” Hermione explained unhelpfully.

“What the bloody--”

“You need to part with yourself in order to be saved,” she elaborated.

“And how exactly am I supposed to do that?” he asked, annoyed.

“Join us,” she said simply.

“What �“ Oh, I get it!” he suddenly realised. “You’re here to get me to turn my back on the Dark Lord. Well, I’ve got news for you: I’m not going to!”

His fingers shook, making his hands skid across the sharp stones, cutting his skin.

“I always thought you could do it.” Hermione was speaking softly again as though he was not just about to fall down a cliff and join the roaring waves and keen rocks at a dinner party in Hell.

Draco felt the tears form in his eyes as he felt the blood flow silently from his cuts. Feeling his pride diminish, he let out in a despairing whisper, “I thought I could too.”

“You still can,” she encouraged him.

“No, it’s too late. I’ve gone too far…”

“It’s never too late to take the right path,” Hermione argued quietly. “You just need to find the courage. And strength.”

“Strength, huh?” he asked with a small laugh.

His grip on the edge tightened and he held on more securely, not quite knowing where the strength came from.

“Come on, Draco,” she said with a crooked smile. “Get up.”

Draco sighed. She was right; he could get up. He should be able to. It was just hard to do it alone; couldn’t someone help him? No, he knew this was something he must do by himself. But did he even want to?

He knew the answer, but he didn’t know if he had the courage …or the strength.

It was so much easier to rely on someone else and get others to do the work. That was how he had lived his life up until now, and it had worked out fine. Who was he kidding? It had not worked out fine; he was hanging on the edge of his self-made cliff and those who should have noticed were the last ones to realise it. If they even had.

Should he? Should he really do this? It was preposterous, outrageous, ridiculous, yet… terribly tempting.

Knowing a list of pros and cons would be too time-consuming at the moment, and that this moment hardly was the right one, Draco steadied his nerves and looked up at Hermione, who stood silent, her white dress and hair flowing in the wind that Draco could feel now, too.

Deciding not to say anything to her before he changed his mind, Draco drew in a breath and reached out, grabbing hold of whatever part of the sharp rock he could find, and tried to haul himself up. It was proven very difficult, and Draco didn’t feel like he was getting anywhere.

“Put your heart into it, Draco,” Hermione urged from above him.

“I don’t have a bloody heart,” he grumbled irritably. “I wasn’t allowed to.”

“Reclaim it, then,” she replied. “You can’t get up unless you’re completely sure.”

“So, basically, if I don’t join you and your lot, I’ll have no choice but to go join the perpetual pagans down there?” Draco asked annoyed.

“In a way…” she replied in a whisper.

“This is blackmail!” he exclaimed. “For all I know, you might have put me here just to make me heretical.” He was losing his grip slowly.

“Draco…” she whispered as she knelt down in front of him. “For what it’s worth, I believe you can do this.”

Oh, she was good. She was really good. Had she been paid to get him to do this?

But still, as Draco looked into her guileless eyes, which he couldn’t help but feel were filled with sincerity, he wanted nothing but to believe her.

Was he really doing this? Was he really about to turn his back on the life he had led these past eighteen years?

He reached out a hand, got hold of an edge on the rock ground and heaved. He had managed to get a bit further up, and as he reached out his other hand for a good place to grab hold, he saw the light in Hermione’s eyes as she, with a small smile, watched him slowly, though determinately, haul himself up.

Apparently pleased with the progress he had made on his own, she reached out a hand to him that he hesitantly took. Hermione got up from her kneeling position, but still held on to his hand with a pleased expression on her face as he heaved himself up with immense effort.

He was almost so high up the cliff that he could swing his leg over the edge, and at the prosperous sight, Draco muttered lightly, “I should so wash my hand after you’ve let go.”

He hadn’t really meant it; it was supposed to be funny, but Hermione’s expression turned from pleased to despairing in an instant, and Draco knew, from the look in her eyes and the tucking sensation gravity was producing, that he had taken the wrong turn.

“I really thought you could do it,” she said sadly.

Draco’s eyes grew wide as the inevitable drew closer.

“Goodbye, Malfoy,” she whispered softly before she, right in front of Draco’s eyes, vanished in the air.

His right hand was stretched out into the air where he had seconds before held her hand, and now, reality coming back to him, he realised that nothing was holding him up anymore.

Gravity and Fate tucked at his robes and he felt his body fall backwards, down into the depths of the roaring sea and the keen rocks. His destiny had been drawn …by himself.

Draco woke up with a start. He looked frantically around himself but saw only darkness. Once his eyes had adjusted to the darkness, he noticed a small string of light. Reaching towards it, his outstretched hand collided with soft fabric. He pulled it aside and was met by bright sunlight.

The Slytherin seventh year boys’ dormitory reached his anxious eyes and his heart jumped to his throat. He looked down and his hands, which where clean and immaculate, no cuts, no blood.

He stood up quickly from his bed, not quite believing the sight. He had stood up too quickly, though, for stars erupted in front of him. He staggered a bit on the spot, closed his eyes and waited for the dizziness to go away. When he opened his eyes again, he saw to his delight the seventh year boys’ dormitory’s familiarity.

It had been a dream. It had been a sodding dream.

He remembered how Hermione had looked in the dream. How distant and soft. How sympathetic and sincere. How beautiful…

She had wanted to help him, and she had, some of the time. He managed to hold on when she was there, but then he distanced himself from her and he fell.

He fell…

Draco took in a determined breath. He was not going to fall this time. He had to find her; he had to make her see. He had to part with himself.

Whether he had just been hallucinating, or whether it was a simple nightmare or a prologue to his second chance, he didn’t care. He was not going to fall. Not this time.