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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.

Chapter List
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When Hermione’s sobs had ebbed into sniffles, Draco detached her body from his and gently pushed her back into her chair. He got up and walked over to the same door he had disappeared through earlier when he had retrieved the healing potion. Hermione heard running water and assumed that the door lead to a bathroom. She listened as the tap turned off and Draco came back into the bedroom holding a glass of water. He handed it to her and then sat back in his chair across from her.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

Draco merely nodded in acknowledgment. He crossed his arms and eyed her as she sipped the water.

“How’s the shoulder?” he asked when she set the glass on the chair between her legs. Hermione shrugged the shoulder tentatively to ascertain its condition.

“Better,” she answered. “It just aches now.” Draco nodded in response again. They sat in awkward silence for several minutes. “Thank you for helping me,” Hermione finally said.

“Well, I couldn’t very well let you bleed-out all over my floor, now could I?” he responded in a cool tone.

“No, I supposed not,” she said calmly. “But I meant thank you for helping me get through…through my little episode there.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair and suddenly found her water glass very interesting to look at.

“Can I expect a lot of those episodes?” Draco asked seriously.

Hermione shook her head, “Only specific things trigger them, and usually only when I’m really stressed. Of course, this day has been nothing but stressful. Between Rosie leaving for school, and Ron this morning and then this pearl fiasco, it’s a wonder a came out of this one so quickly.”

“What happened with Ron,” Draco inquired in a dark tone. Hermione looked up at him confused and then realized what she had said.

“Look, Malfoy,” she sighed, “I really don’t feel comfortable explaining it to you. I didn’t mean to bring him up. Besides, you hate me. Why would you even care?”

Draco took a deep breath and leaned forward in his chair, resting his forearms on his knees. “I do not hate you,” he said evenly, “I barely know you. But since you and I only have each other to rely on to get through this nightmare, then we need to understand each other. I am not the bigoted prick I once was, but you will find that I am still very self-serving. I care because if something is affecting you then I’m the one that will have to deal with it. I like to be prepared, and I don’t fancy having to experience another one of your flashbacks without warning.”

Hermione’s logical brain knew that he was right, but she wasn’t sure how much more pain her heart could take and she didn’t want to keep crying in front of Malfoy. She closed her eyes and delved into her soul to take hold of her dormant Gryffindor courage and then reopened her eyes and nodded her head in acceptance of his statement.

“So what happened with Weasley?” Draco asked.

“He never came home last night," she confessed. "He came home early this morning, drunk as usual, and I told him I was done with his selfishness. Then, after we put Rose on the train, he…he…” she paused as she felt her emotions rise.

“He what, Granger?” Draco pushed her.

Hermione took a deep breath and looked Draco straight in the eye with determination. “He told me that he was leaving me for Susan Bones and then accused me of having an affair…with you,” she finished sans tears.

Draco’s mind unhinged at her last words and it conjured a clear image of a naked, sweaty Granger, moaning his name beneath him as he thrust wildly. The image sent an intense jolt straight to his groin and he was suddenly very glad that he was bent forward in the chair. The proper part of his brain screamed at him to focus on the conversation, but his newly reestablished teenage hormones raged at him to make the picture a reality.

“Fuck, it’s been too long since I last had sex,” he thought.

“Well, it’s too bad you weren’t there to tell him that,” Hermione said with a surprised chuckle. Draco was ripped from his reverie at her words and realized that he had voiced his thought out loud. “Sweet Merlin, Malfoy. I guess you weren’t messing around when you said we should get to know each other,” she smirked at him.

Draco felt his cheeks start to flush and knew he had to steer the conversation back on track quickly if he was to save face.

“Yes, well. Leave it to the Weasel to try and cast his own blame on someone else,” Draco responded with malice as he carefully adjusted himself to lean back in the chair again.

Hermione frowned in thought. She considered his reaction to her confession about Ron and realized that aside from his crass comment, he hadn’t appeared at all surprised.

“Malfoy,” she began tentatively, “did you know that Ron was cheating on me?”

Draco puffed out a sigh and brought his hands to his head and ran his fingers through his hair. “I found out just last night. He and Susan came into the pub together,” he said resting his hands behind his head.

“Yeah, Ron mentioned that he frequently saw you out drinking,” Hermione said trying to sound nonchalant.

Draco shrugged his shoulders slightly as if to say “so what” and she suddenly had a strong desire to find out if her theory about all men being pigs was true. Draco had already admitted to being self-serving, after all, though she knew that she’d have to tread carefully if she wanted an honest answer. But her frustrated mind bullied her into a hasty inquiry and she blurted out, “How does Astoria feel about you going out all the time?”

A darkness fell over Draco’s face at her question and Hermione briefly had the urge to back away from him. He looked murderous and the hatred radiating from his scowl was palpable. “She doesn’t,” was all he said through gritted teeth.

“She doesn’t what?” Hermione asked him. He had expected her to tell him about Ron and she was not going to let him get away from telling her what she wanted to know about Astoria. She knew she had struck some nerve, but she was not afraid of him. In fact, she found she was genuinely concerned when a nearly imperceptible flash of pain and sadness joined the rage in his eyes.

Draco was having a very difficult time deciding how to let himself react to Hermione’s question. One part of him wanted to stand up, hurl his chair across the room and hex the hell out of her for reminding him how miserable he was. He was angry with himself because Hermione was asking him personal questions that were going to hurt to answer and it was his own fault for asking her first. He was not good at openly displaying emotions, and he was still scarred from his wife’s response the last time he had try to share them. But the other part of him was so desperately lonely and tired of feeling used and worthless. That part just wanted to tell her everything and hope she could somehow make it better.

He wasn’t sure why he thought Hermione Granger of all people could make anything in his life better, but the knowledge that she had confided in him and that she was suffering too made him throw caution to the wind. Draco closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

“She doesn’t care,” he answered. “She never has. She’d prefer it if I would just die so she could have my money without the hassle of a husband. She actually told me she wanted me dead!”

His voice had risen a bit and his heart was starting to pound. “That fucking cunt!," he continued harshly. "I married her because she asked to marry me. I tried to show her love and she mocked me. She wastes no opportunity to tell me how I am lacking in any number of ways. I can count on one hand the number of times she crawled into my bed looking to satisfy her own needs, and she ridiculed me after each session. Five times we fucked in twelve years and after each time I got violently ill and contemplating killing myself. Voldemort himself didn’t make me feel as used and dirty as she has.”

Draco was now standing, his body shaking and tears streaming down his face. Hermione was crying too but she sat quietly to let him vent.

“But what was I to do, hmm?” he went on. “I am a Death Eater. That’s all anyone ever sees in me; that’s all she ever saw. She hates to even look at me. She even resents our son because he looks like me. You want to know why I drink every night? It’s because I can’t stand the thought of Scorpius being left alone with that heartless harpy and Firewhiskey dulls the pain enough to keep me from offing myself every day.” Draco slumped back down in his chair and doubled over in quiet sobs.

He couldn’t believe that he had actually said what he did, but it was cathartic to finally face it. It was the same way he felt when he had confided in Moaning Myrtle during his dreadful sixth year.

Hermione had not expected his confession. His pain devastated her and it felt as if someone had torn her heart from her chest. She felt guilty too for pushing him and for feeling sorry for herself when he had it so much worse. At least Ron had loved her in the beginning. Hermione reached out her hand and placed it gently on Draco’s knee.

“I don’t see you as a Death Eater,” she said softly, “and I don’t think you are worthless. You are a good man now, and a good father.”

Draco sniffed loudly. “How would you know?”

She thought for a moment and then replied reverently, “I saw you with Scorpius right after he was born. You were holding him in the hallway in St. Mungo’s and I saw the way you looked at him. There was so much love and devotion and a fierceness to protect him. You actually made me cry.”

“Why were you there?” Draco asked in a defeated voice.

“I had just delivered Rose a few hours before and they wanted to move me to a different room. I saw you while I was waiting for the transfer,” Hermione answered.

Draco looked up at Hermione in mild surprise. “Scorpius and Rose have the same birth date?”

“The 19th of February?”

Draco nodded in confirmation.

They sat in silence for a moment as Draco attempted to calm his body after his outburst. He took several deep breaths and then pushed himself back in the chair. He traced his left forearm where the Dark Mark used to be with the fingers of his right hand.

Hermione noticed and looked down at her own left forearm. She gasped softly as she now saw that her own scars from the past were missing. No longer were there raised pink lines that spelled MUDBLOOD glaring up at her. Only smooth creamy skin met her gaze. She touched her blank skin tenderly and a lone tear escaped her eye.

Draco stared at her as she marveled at her arm. He knew that she had had her own scars to cover up and he now felt very foolish for thinking that he alone had suffered in this sick game that was life. They were not so different. In fact, now that Draco thought about it, they were almost too similar.

“This has got to be some kind of sick cosmic joke,” he barked out, breaking the silence. Hermione merely raised an eyebrow at him. Draco laughed hollowly and continued. “How is it that we have such similar circumstances? We both have unhappy marriages, we both had scarred left arms, our children were born on the same day, we happen to run into each other in Diagon Alley while I’m holding a Paenitentia Pearl and we both regret the same fucking thing at the same fucking time! What are the odds of that? Why is the universe messing with us?”

“I don’t know,” was all Hermione could manage to say.

It did indeed seem like too many coincidences, but she had never been able to believe in anything like fate. Her logical brain couldn’t fathom an existence that was predetermined. If she were to admit that the universe had somehow engineered this whole situation then she would be admitting that it was sentient, and that scared her more than anything. She was in over her head on this one. They needed help.

“We need to find someone that can help us,” she said after a moment. Draco scowled slightly at her.

“What a brilliant idea, Granger,” he responded sarcastically. “I suppose you’d have us just waltz into the Aurors’ Office and explain our situation? You’re daft if you think they’d do anything other than lock us up.”

Hermione huffed in irritation. “I never said we had to go to the Aurors. I have an idea of who might be able to help, but we first need three things. We need to find out what the date is, we need a quill and parchment, and we need an owl.”

“That’s four things, Granger,” Draco said with a smirk that earned him an eye roll from Hermione. He was glad for it. It made him feel a little normal again having irritated her, like when they were young. Like how we are now, he thought perceptively.

“Yes, well, we need to find out the date first and quickly. Time may be a factor in getting the person I have in mind to help us,” Hermione said, finally standing from her chair.

Draco gave a small grunt in understanding and stood up as well. He swiftly made his way over to the far wall of his room where there hung long, emerald green curtains. He pulled them aside to reveal a set of beautiful French doors that lead out to a small private balcony. Draco peered through the doors’ windows hesitantly and then pulled one of the doors open gently.

Hermione watched with curiosity as he stepped out onto the balcony and whistled sharply. Not more than two seconds later an enormous eagle owl swooped down and perched herself upon Draco’s outstretched arm. The beautiful bird ruffled her speckled wings slightly and swiveled her head to reveal a pair of intense orange eyes. The bird nipped affectionately at Draco’s face as he brought her close and whispered something to her. Then, in a flurry of feathers, she launched off of his arm and flew out of sight. Draco watched the owl go and remained outside.

Unsure if she should join him or not, Hermione walked over to the doors of the balcony and glanced around nervously. Before she could decide what to do, the owl returned with a small bundle clutched in its talons. With the bird perched on his arm again, Draco came inside stroking her feathers lightly.

“This is Nyx,” he said nodding to the stately bird.

“She’s very beautiful,” Hermione remarked in awe.

“She’s wicked fast too. I still have her…or had her…err…back in the future,” Draco stuttered. “But it is nice to see her looking so young again.”

He then took the item that she had brought him from her claw and she hopped off of his arm and flew gracefully over to rest atop one of the posts of Draco’s bed. He walked over to a large desk on the other wall of the room and Hermione followed.

Once there, Draco lit two oil lamps that were on the desk with a flick of his wand. “I asked Nyx to bring me a copy of today’s newspaper,” he said spreading the the Daily Prophet the owl had brought out over the desk top.

They both leaned over it so quickly in their eagerness to see the date that their faces brushed against each other. They both stiffened immediately. Draco’s eyes went momentarily wide and Hermione felt her cheeks flush red as she pulled away hastily.

“Sorry,” she whispered. Draco said nothing but gave her a sideways glance and then leaned over the paper once more.

He cleared his throat awkwardly. “According to this,” he said, “today is Sunday the 23^rd of June, 1996.”

“Summer before our sixth year,” Hermione chimed in. “That’s what I expected, but I wonder why the pearl brought us to this day. When did you get the…” she trailed off, weary of bringing up the subject of his Marking.

“The fourth of July,” Draco answered darkly. He glanced at Hermione who had a puzzled expression on her face. “The Dark Lord chose the date stating that as America’s day of independence from the British it served as a good reminder of how important it was to defeat our enemies and gain freedom from the oppression of the Muggle world or some shite,” he elaborated in monotone.

Hermione paced a little and thought for a moment. “Hmm…23rd June. That means we have ten days to figure out how to get you out of it. It also means this is our first week of the summer holiday. This is good, he is probably still…”

Hermione stopped dead and her eyes went almost comically wide. “He probably hasn’t left yet. We can stop him! We can stop him from touching the ring! Malfoy, we need to get a letter out right now!” she nearly shouted while bouncing in place anxiously.

“There should be parchment and ink in the desk drawer,” Draco said and watched as Hermione ripped open the drawer of the desk before he even finished his sentence.

He looked on in mild fascination as she quickly prepared a quill and then scribbled furiously on a bit of parchment. Just a moment later she had the message folded and sealed neatly and held it out in the air in Nyx’s direction. The owl came down from her perch atop the bedpost at once and landed heavily on Hermione’s good shoulder. Hermione whispered to her and Nyx snatched the letter from her hand and then took off across the room and out of the balcony door that Draco had left ajar.

“Gods, I hope she’s as fast as you say, Malfoy,” Hermione sighed, staring at the door the owl had just left through. She then turned to Draco and was surprised to see that he looked like he’d been hit with a Stunner. “What’s wrong,” she asked.

“Nyx answered to you,” he said in disbelief. “She has never listened to anyone but me before. She bites anyone that tries to get near her other than me and my mother when she wants to send me treats.”

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and winced slightly having forgotten that the one was sore. “I just have a way with moody creatures it seems,” she responded innocently. Draco eyed her suspiciously for a moment and then decided to forge on to the more important issue.

“Who did you send the letter to anyway? Who do you think can help us, Granger?” he asked.

Hermione smiled and replied, “Professor Dumbledore.”
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Songs of Regret