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Songs of Regret	By : RavieSnake Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 76454 -:- Recommendations : 5 -:- Currently Reading : 17
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any of the characters from it. I also hold no rights to any of the songs mentioned. I make no money from the writing of this story.

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Draco Malfoy sat at the long table in his empty dining hall. He had his elbows propped on the cold shining surface with his face resting in his hands. It had been just after five in the morning when he had finally Apparated into the foyer of the Manor.

‘Too bad I didn’t splinch myself’, he had mused darkly.

Nothing but an echoing silence and shadows had welcomed him home.

He knew better than to hope that Astoria had waited up for him. He wished that just once he’d come home to find her sitting there waiting for him with a scowl to show her disapproval of his escapades. It was too much to hope that his wife actually gave a shite whether he was home or not. So long as she had access to his vaults she went about her life with barely an acknowledgement of his existence.

He had tried to be a good husband. He was faithful and gave her everything she wanted. He had even agreed to marry her at her insistence. He hadn’t loved her, but he knew that his prospects would be few, even with his family’s money, after the way the Malfoy name had become synonymous with treachery during the war. Draco wasn’t so naïve to believe that he had anything of value emotionally to offer anyone else either, so he hadn’t even considered dating.

When his mother came to him one day and told him that Astoria wanted to marry him he simply said, “That’s fine.”

There had been no courtship and no proposal. He merely showed-up to his own wedding and was herded this way and that by a wedding planner and then said “I do” to a girl he barely knew in front of hundreds of people he didn’t know at all.

During their honeymoon, Draco let his guard down in an attempt to get to know the woman with which he was to spend his life. He found that the arrogance he had held on to in his youth was now exhausting and, even though he didn’t really get to choose his lover, he was determined to be a better husband than his father had been to his mother. He had wanted to love Astoria. So when he opened-up to her, it had been a tough blow to his pride when she laughed in his face. “Poor little rich boy,” she called him.

He leaned back in the dining room chair and recalled that scarring day.

“Listen here, Draco,” Astoria began harshly, “ I did not marry a Death Eater (she spat on the floor) as part of some goddamn happily ever after. My father had me marry you for your money. I will give you your heir, but you will never have my heart.” Draco merely gaped at her and then was smothered with a feeling of intense humiliation as she pushed him back onto their bed and crawled on top of him. Afterward he went into the bathroom and vomited. She hadn’t even let him take off his shirt.

Indeed, the few times the frigid witch had let him touch her he had never been allowed to remove his shirt. And she had always insisted he wear long sleeves.

Now, sitting alone in his dining room, he pulled back the sleeve of his wrinkled shirt. He looked down at the fading black curves of the Dark Mark he knew she never wanted to see. He swallowed hard to fight back the tears that welled in his eyes from the injustice that was his life.

Did he really deserve a lifetime of unhappiness because he had been a spoiled brat as a child or because he had been forced into unspeakable horrors during a war he had never wanted to fight?

At this point he wasn’t so sure he didn’t prefer to be rotting away alongside his father in Azkaban. His soul felt dead anyway.

The clock in the hall chimed the hour, breaking Draco of his meditations, and he sighed and stood from the chair. He stretched his back and made for the stairs to his private bedroom on slightly unsteady feet.

On the way, he stopped at the door to his son’s bedroom and peered inside. His son was sleeping, curled tight in his silky comforters with an angelic look on his still face that was exacerbated by the early morning light reflecting off of his platinum blond hair.

Draco smiled sadly as his eyes roamed to his son’s new school trunk on the other side of the room. By noon today, Scorpius would be on his way to school and Draco would be left without the only thing that meant anything to him in this life until the Christmas holidays.

He quietly clicked the door shut and made his way once more down the long, ornate hallway. He came to another stop just outside the room where his wife had taken up residence. He sneered at the door and felt a ball of fury swell within him. With everything he had done for her, he deserved to know why she didn’t find him to be good enough.

It had been nineteen years for fuck’s sake. He was no longer a Death Eater, no longer a criminal, and he was not his father. He was Draco Fucking Malfoy and he would not allow his wife to disregard him any longer.

He suddenly slammed his fist into the heavy door and opened it hastily with his other hand at the same moment.

Astoria shot up in her bed and let out a small shriek of surprise at the intrusion. When she came to her senses she tensed, dramatically pulling her covers up around her torso and narrowed her murky eyes at him.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing!?” she started shrilly. “How dare you come barging into my room at this hour? This is-”

“Why don’t you love me!?” Draco bellowed at her, interrupting her tirade. She momentarily looked aghast, but then she casually raked her perfectly manicured hand through her long brown hair, smoothing it away from her face, and her mouth turned up into an awful smirk that only could have been rivaled by Draco himself.

“What’s to love?” she derided. “You are pathetic. Always have been. Look at you. You’re a sloppy mess. You’re fortune is hardly worth all the trouble of putting-up with you. You’d be worth more to me dead!”

She noticed that the blood drained from Draco’s face at her last jab and she forged on with increased disdain. “What would your old mates think if they saw you now?” She threw her head back and laughed mockingly. “Imagine,” she continued, “telling them twenty years ago that the Prince of Slytherin would grow-up to be a spineless ponce who drinks away his nights in a pub with blood traitors and Mudbloods only to come stumbling home and barge around seeking out love like a bleeding Hufflepuff! You should be grateful I even married your sorry arse.”

Draco knew that she was going to be cruel, but he had at least expected her to talk to him like a human being. It seemed her resentment towards him ran much deeper than he realized.

He hated this bitch.

“How dare you talk to me like that in my own house!?” he exploded at her. “You are the one that should be grateful to me for agreeing to marry you. If you recall, it was you that sought me out. I never would have thought twice about you, wouldn’t have given you a second glance in the street! You are nothing but a spoiled, selfish cow of a woman. No amount of money in the world could make you desirable. Every-fucking-thing about you is ugly. The only decent thing you’ve done in your entire frivolous life is give birth to my son. And he is the only reason I’ve kept your saggy arse around all these years. And now I think about it, since he is going to Hogwarts, I think I’ll be shot of you!”

With that he stalked out the room and slammed the door behind him so hard that its frame cracked at the edges and it rebounded back open into the room.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Draco stood stiffly on the station platform in Kings Cross as his wife straightened their son’s clothes for the fiftieth time.

“Scorpius,” she lightly scolded, “how is it you can never keep your ties straight or your shirts tucked-in. You certainly are your father’s son.”

Draco chose to ignore the veiled insult to his appearance and smiled at his son.

“You look just fine, lad. Just promise me you’ll remember to keep up your marks while you manage all of your girlfriends,” he chided jokingly. Astoria harrumphed slightly and Scorpius sent his father a small smirk.

Smiling from his wife’s annoyance and his son’s youthful innocence, Draco raked his eyes around the platform at the other waiting parents and children. Not far in the distance, he caught sight of the Weasleys and Potters looking back at him.

He gave them a curt nod and turned slightly to face partially away from them. The less he had to see of Ron Weasley the better, the wanker.

Memories of the previous night flooded Draco’s mind while his wife continued to fuss over Scorpius.

Draco was used to seeing Weasley in the pubs at night. In fact, he couldn’t recall a time in recent history that he had gone out and had NOT seen the Weasel tipping them back. However, up until last night he had only ever seen Ron get pissed, watch some Quidditch on the new televisions some of the local places had put up, play darts while talking raucously with that fool friend of his, Seamus, and then leave. He’d always figured the Weasel just needed an outlet for the everyday stresses of life like the rest of them. But then last night… Draco frowned at the recollection...

Draco was already seated in the far, darkest corner of the bar where he usually liked to be. It was a relatively slow night and he figured it was because most of the men his age were at home helping their children prepare for their morning train ride to school. He had already helped Scorpius with his various needs and his son had requested to go to bed straight away after dinner, reasoning that he’d need his rest to start the day off properly. The kid was sometimes too responsible for his own damn good.

Having no real desire to stay alone in his study as his wife had already retreated to her room, Draco decided to slip- out to the quiet pub to drown his loneliness in the deliciousness that was Firewhiskey.

Being such a subdued night, he was surprised when a man and woman came barreling through the front door of the place hanging on each other and laughing loudly. He immediately recognized Weasley and had expected to see Granger’s face on the woman next to him, but was shocked to see Susan Bones grinning stupidly up at the man with his arms around her waist.

Draco watched as the Weasel leaned down and kissed Susan sloppily. He suddenly felt his insides twist with an emotion he wasn’t sure he could name. It was something between anger and annoyance, and he wasn’t quite sure why he felt it. He continued to watch as they broke from their kiss and sidled up to the bar to order drinks.

The barman was just handing them their drinks when Seamus came through the door and plodded over to them.

“Ron, mate! How the hell are ye? And Suz, it’s lovely to see you as always,” the Irishman garbled out to them in one breath, bowing his head slightly toward Susan.

“It’s good to see you too, Seamus,” she replied in a simpering voice.

“So,” Seamus began again, slapping Ron hard on the back with a mischievous grin, “how’s Hermione?”

Draco saw Susan’s face darken as Ron choked on his sip of butterbeer. Ron composed himself quickly and turned to Seamus who was now leaning back against the bar with his arms crossed and his eyebrows raised.

“Fuck her,” Draco heard Ron say bitterly. “She’s crazy. She just never stops with the…(he gestured wildly with both hands to make them talk as if he had on sock puppets.) Witch never stops nagging me about where I am and who I see and what I do. All she does is complain that I’m not around enough, that I’m not good enough to her and the kids.”

“Because you’re not,” Draco huffed to himself quietly. Ron shot him a look suddenly and Draco worried for a moment that he had been heard. But then just as suddenly, Ron looked away and grabbed Susan about the waist again and jiggled her slightly.

“I got me a good woman now,” Ron grinned wolfishly. He, Seamus and Susan all began to laugh and Draco had had enough. He slammed his glass down, got up, and made his way to the exit, stopping just next to Ron.

“Who’s the two-faced bastard now, Weaselbee?” he questioned him darkly.* “Fucking idiot,” Draco finished with a shake of his head and stormed out of the bar.

The sound of the train whistle brought Draco back to the present and he chanced a glance back over to where the Potters and Weasleys were. His eyes fell on Hermione and he saw that she was staring off at nothing with a blank expression on her face, but noticed too that she was clenching and unclenching her fists. He wondered if she knew about her husband’s infidelity.

A new surge of anger boiled within Draco as he thought about it all. Here he was yearning for a wife to care about him and the Weasel had just such a wife and he treated her like rubbish. The only thing that kept Draco from marching over and decking Ron Weasley in the face was the sound of the final whistle signaling the impending departure of the train.

Draco quickly bent and patted his son on the back, wished him a happy school year, then watched him ascend the steps into the carriage.

When the train had gone from sight, Draco turned back to look for the Weasleys again, but the left-over steam from the train and the leaving masses of parents obscured them from his view and he lost them to the crowd. He shifted instead to look at his wife next to him. She glared at him and said after a moment, “I’m off to hire a new solicitor. It seems I’ll be in need of one in the very near future.”

“Quite right,” he replied plainly and he watched then as his soon-to-be-ex-wife turned on her heel and strode away from him.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: * Allusion to scene in Deathly Hallows during the final battle where Ron punched Draco calling him a two-faced bastard.
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Songs of Regret