Their Greatest Mistake

A/N: I'm so sorry for the long wait! I've been updating GE and getting TGM up to date over there. In fact, I've had each chapter beta'd (by the awesome Christy, I might add), and I've added stuff, too. So, if you're interested in reading the very nice version (which has some new plot details added into it, which might make more sense down the road), feel free to wander over there. I've got the same username and everything. I even have some other fics up over there that aren't up over here! They're different pairings, which is why they're not over here, because those pairings don't have as great a following, but still!

Again, sorry for the long wait. I hope this chapter makes up for it.

**

She was in a small, square room that had white walls and a white tiled floor. Surprisingly, she noted that she was sitting in a chair not unlike the ones around the Weasley’s kitchen table. The longer she was in the room, the more aspects of it became clear to her.

It was strange, but she didn’t think that there had been two other chairs in front of her, although when she looked back after looking up at the ceiling to see a mirror image of the weather outside, like in the Great Hall, there they were. When she looked behind her to see another clear, blank wall, she turned back to find two people sitting in the chairs.

They were her parents.

A choked sob tore from her throat and she struggled to jump out of her chair to hug them, only to find herself tied to it. Something else she hadn’t noticed before.

Smiling slightly, her mother said, “Hermione, darling, don’t struggle. You’re alright.”

Confusion filled her eyes. “But, Mum! Dad! I don’t understand! Where are we? How are you? What’s going on?” A little part of her brain was annoyed at how childish she sounded – she was, after all, a married woman, and, as so many people told her, the brightest witch of her generation – but that part was quickly squashed by the rest of her brain that acknowledged that she was with her parents. And they were sane!

Her father leaned forward, leaning his elbows on his thighs as he looked her directly in the eye. “I’m not going to beat around the bush, sweetheart. This is the last time you can talk to us. We’re almost dead, and we’re probably going to die pretty soon. But I want you to know that we love you, and this is in no way your fault.”

Tears coursed down her cheeks as she protested, and noted belatedly that her hands were tied behind the chair and she couldn’t gesticulate. Furthermore, her parents were tied in their chairs, as well, although their hands were free. “But it is! If only I hadn’t married Draco, they wouldn’t have done this! And now I’m not even going to have you!”

Her mother’s eyes filled with tears, as well, and her voice was choked. “But you will, sweetheart. Even if we can never see you again, we will always be with you. And don’t be silly. This is absolutely not your fault. If you want to blame anyone, blame your Ministry who failed to round up the rest of those Demise Creators, or whatever you call them. But don’t blame yourself.”

Unable to speak, Hermione nodded her assent. After a moment or two, she said, “I just really want to tell you something, something that you’ll be really mad at me for and disappointed in me but I have to tell you because you have to know the truth.”

Through her tears, she noted her father stiffen and frown, while her mother opted for only the latter. “What is it, darling?” she asked.

She took a deep breath. “I don’t really love Draco. I haven’t really been carrying on a secret affair with him. We got drunk and ended up married. Yes, I had a crush on him, and yes, I think that I could be very happy with him, but I couldn’t keep on lying to you.”

A little gasp emitted from her mother, and her father’s mouth was drawn into such a tight line that it disappeared. After a moment, he asked, “Did you plan on telling us if we lived?”

On the surface, Hermione had not. But when he asked her, she knew the answer. “Yes, I did, but only once I was really and truly in love with him and we were really and truly happy. There’s this magical requirement in our marriage contract that requires us to live together for five years and then remain married for another ten before we can divorce, although I really don’t want to get divorced in general. But I knew that I wouldn’t be able to lie to you forever.”

He nodded solemnly, and suddenly Hermione realized how old he was. It was as if he had aged twenty years in one head nod. A second look at her mother revealed the same thing. “Thank you for telling us,” he finally said. “I won’t lie. I am disappointed. But I appreciate the honesty, however delayed it is.”

“And, sweetheart,” her mother interjected with a sad smile, and Hermione noted with trepidation how much older she sounded. “I saw how you two looked at each other at the wedding party and before you left for Hogwarts. I know beginning love when I see it.”

Fresh tears filled Hermione’s eyes as she quietly thanked her parents and apologized for lying once again. “How much longer do we have?” she asked quietly afterwards.

“Not much, I’m afraid,” her father said. “Because of your mother’s magical roots, your magical strength, and the cause of our impending deaths, when we entered this limbo between life and death, we went to Merlin and Nimue first. They promised us one dream with you, and after this,” he paused, taking a breath and striking a falsely cheerful tone, “we die, and we’ll go to Saint Peter.”

His frank statement without sugar coating was so like Hermione’s childhood that it made her heart hurt. How was she going to do this without them?

A smile from her mother showed Hermione that there were no teeth in the dentist’s mouth. It wasn’t her imagination; they were getting older right in front of her eyes. As if they realized this, as well, her parents shared a worried glance.

“Well, this is it, I believe,” Mrs. Granger wheezed. “Good bye, and don’t blame yourself.”

“If you do I will surely haunt you, and not in a good way,” her husband cheerfully added, and Hermione gave him a watery laugh. “Good bye, Hermione. I love you.”

“I love you, Dad. I love you, Mum,” Hermione managed to make out before breaking down sobbing.

“I love you, Hermione,” her mother’s voice came as if from far away and sounded like she was her proper age again. When Hermione looked up, her parents were gone, and she was alone in the little white room again.

Slowly, everything reverted back to the way it was when she first arrived. Her hands were unbound, she was unbound, and there were no chairs in front of her.

Collapsing on the ground, Hermione sobbed, crying as if she had just watched her parents die right in front of her.

**

“Oh, poor thing!”

“Merlin, someone should wake her up. It’s like she’s dying in her sleep!”

“Ron, stop being so dramatic! Her parents were just tortured and lost their sanity and this is the first time she’s been asleep since then. Of course she’s not going to have pleasant dreams.”

“Come on, darling, you can wake up now, I’m here. You’re safe.”

“Draco,” Hermione breathed, opening her eyes and looking up at her husband, who sat next to her on their bed, and only her husband. Suddenly the memory of the dream came rushing back and tears filled her eyes. “Oh, Draco!” she threw herself at him, and sobbed into his shoulder as he wrapped his arms around her.

The room fell silent as she cried in her husband’s arms, and only Dumbledore ended it by coughing subtly into his hand. When Hermione pulled away from Draco, his arms still wrapped around her, she became aware of the commotion in the room.

Harry, Ron, Ginny, Draco, and Dumbledore were all in the bedroom, and judging from the noises outside there were more people in the living room. To say she was shocked was an understatement. Dumbledore had made it perfectly clear that no one was to know where their rooms were, yet there they were, all standing in her room. But why?

“Your Grace, I am sorry to be the unfortunate messenger regarding your parents, but it would appear that I have some more bad news for you,” Dumbledore said once he noted that her attention was on him.

Instantly she felt Draco tense around her, but Hermione already knew what it was. “My parents are dead, aren’t they.” It was more of a statement than a question, and she could tell that everyone in the room was surprised, even more so when she didn’t start crying again.

“My dear, how did you know that?” he asked, seemingly intrigued and perturbed.

Hermione looked down at her lap, where her and Draco’s hands were now intertwined, and spoke to their hands rather than to Dumbledore or anyone in the room, for that matter. “In my dream, I spoke to my parents. They explained that their impending deaths weren’t my fault, they forgave me for my previous offenses, and we said our good byes.” She heard and felt Draco’s breath pause when she mentioned previous offenses, and she was certain that he knew she meant their marriage and the circumstances surrounding it.

She looked up at Dumbledore. “They explained that due to my ancestors, my magical strength, and the way they were tortured, when they balanced between life and death they went to Merlin and Nimue. They were granted one dream with me, and then they would die and go to Saint Peter. And then,” she paused, sniffling a little, “I watched them fade away and I knew they were dead.”

The silence in the room was deafening, and as the significance of what had just happened sunk in, she turned into Draco’s open embrace where her cries were less loud but no less gut wrenching than before. Listening to her cry and seeing her pain was enough to almost make Draco cry, too. It was the most painful event in his short life, and that included experiencing torture at the Dark Lord’s hands. He hoped that he – and Hermione of course – never had to go through it again.

Coughing again, Dumbledore said, “I am sorry to be the bearer of such terrible news, but it is true. You both have been granted a reprieve from your lessons for one week. If you feel the need for more time off, please feel free to come see me and request more.”

Lost in her world of sorrow and Draco, Hermione barely noticed the rumble of Draco’s chest as he answered Dumbledore, and most definitely did not hear him speak. “Thank you very much, sir,” he said. “Now, if you all will excuse us, I will be sure to come and get you when Hermione is feeling better, but I believe she would prefer to be alone right now.”

The latter point did not take much convincing, although Draco sourly noted that Potter did not seem very eager to agree with his girlfriend that giving Hermione space would be the best thing and they would wait downstairs. The four of them traipsed down the stairs and joined Pansy, Blaise, McGonagall, and Snape, who Draco knew were all in the living room.

Once they were all gone, Draco repositioned them on the bed so that they rested against the headboard and Hermione was tucked under his arm. Her crying slowly subsided and they just lay there, thinking.

“Draco?” Hermione finally voiced after a few moments.

He turned to look at her, and she saw in his face the emotion that her mother had mentioned. She felt it, too. “Yes, Hermione?” he asked. “What is it?”

“I don’t know what to do now,” she quietly said, breaking eye contact and burrowing back into his embrace.

Even though she couldn’t see it, she could hear his slight smile in his voice. “What do you mean? The great Hermione Malfoy doesn’t know what to do?”

She laughed a little, and it almost hurt. “I mean, I’m alone now,” she explained seriously, and Draco frowned, although she couldn’t see it. “I don’t have my parents, any close relatives, or any siblings. My closest relative is my great-great-grandfather’s descendants, but I’ve never met them in my entire life. I’m alone.”

In a flash, her chin was tipped up and she was staring into Draco’s icy eyes; she shivered. But when he spoke, his voice was full of emotion, and she noticed, with some surprise, that his eyes appeared icy because they were filled with tears. “Hermione,” he said making his tears more apparent in his voice and arousing more in her eyes. “Hermione, you are not alone, not at all. You have me. You have Mother. You have Potter, Weasley, and Ginny. You have the Weasleys. And one day, one day. . .”

He paused and wiped his eyes. Tears started falling from hers, and she made no move to wipe them away. “One day, Hermione Jane Granger Malfoy,” he continued. “We will have our own Malfoy family. And we can have a brood the size of the Weasleys so that our children will never feel alone, even when they’re not.”

A watery laugh escaped her, and she looked up into his eyes. She knew that she didn’t love him now; no, absolutely not. Definitely, most certainly not. But she did think that there was the chance – a small chance, but a chance nonetheless – that she was falling. And having kids with anyone asides from Draco Malfoy would be wrong. “Really?” she managed.

“Really,” he agreed.

She sniffled, and hugged him again “Not now, of course,” she said, all business. “I mean, I want to make sure that when we do this, it will be because we’re ready to support another life, not because I’m keenly feeling the loss of my parents.” He agreed, but noticed that, at the mention of her parents, she grew quiet.

Kissing the top of her curly head, he extracted himself from her embrace and climbed off the bed. “Darling, I’m going to go down and let them know you’re doing better, and then I’ll write Mother. Do you want anything?”

“No, thank you,” she said. “I’m going to get some sleep. Tomorrow I have to plan my parents’ funeral.”

He knelt at the side of the bed so that his head was equal with hers as she lay on her side. “Hermione, I will help you with as much as I can,” he whispered softly. “Obviously there are many Muggle customs which I am not familiar with and can’t be any use there, but anything that I can do for you, I will.”

Slowly, she threaded a hand through his hair, pulling him close. “I know,” she whispered. “Thank you.” With a quick kiss he was gone, and she was asleep shortly after.

This time she did not remember any of her dreams.

**

Draco descended the stairs to the living room and all quiet chatter stopped. With everyone looking at him, Draco said, “She’s fallen asleep. I think what we’re going to do is leave tomorrow for St. Mungo’s so she can see her parents again, and then plan the funeral and spread the word. I don’t know if we’ll come back to Hogwarts this week, because I want to get her home. I know she’d love to have you at the funeral,” he said, nodding to Harry, Ron, and Ginny.

“Well, Draco,” Dumbledore began, standing up from where he had been sitting in a conjured chair by the fire. “The Ministry has been in contact with the Muggle newspaper, and the official story is that there was a random mugging in London and two well respected and well liked dentists were killed. Their dentistry practice has been notified.”

Draco nodded his thanks to the older man. “As for the funeral,” Dumbledore continued. “I am sure that I can grant Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, and Miss Weasley a leave of absence for a long weekend. You will be allowed to leave Thursday after classes end and you must be back by curfew on Sunday.” He turned to Draco. “The same goes to you and Mrs. Malfoy. You may leave tomorrow, but unless I hear from you, you are expected by curfew on Sunday at the latest. You may all use my floo to travel.”

The group said their thanks, and slowly they all left, except for Snape and Dumbledore. Snape went up to Draco and gave the boy a piercing look. It wasn’t withering, which was unexpected, but it would have made his students more meek. “Draco, you legitimately have feelings for this girl, don’t you?” It was asked quietly to make sure it wasn’t heard across the room by Dumbledore, or it seemed, but definitely loud enough that there was no question as to what he had said.

Confused, for Snape was not in on the charade, Draco asked, “Yes, of course. Why wouldn’t I? I married her, for Merlin’s sake.”

His professor and long time family friend chuckled. “Yes, that may be so, but I know you.” Draco chose not to comment on the strange words, and after a silent moment, Snape added, “Would you like me to write your mother so that you may focus on your wife?”

“No, that won’t be necessary, sir,” Draco said. “I was going to go write to her myself once everyone left.”

Snape nodded knowingly. “Well, then, I suppose my writing will not be necessary. Good night, Draco.”

They shook hands, and Draco said, “Good night, sir.” Robes billowing behind him, Snape left the room with a brief nod to his employer, and Draco was left alone in the living room with Dumbledore.

A little unsure, Draco asked, “Is there anything else I can do for you, Headmaster?”

Dumbledore fixed his gaze on the young man before him. “Actually, yes, Draco. I need for you to promise that what I am about to tell you does not leave this room. You may tell Hermione later on, but no one else. Do you understand?”

Frowning with confusion, Draco agreed. “Yes. Sure. Of course, sir.”

Dumbledore sighed deeply, and looked years older than he was for just an instant. “The Order of the Phoenix found those Death Eaters responsible for the attack on the Grangers,” he confessed.

Instantly angry, Draco demanded, “Who were they? What punishment will they have? Where were they found?”

“Avery, Avery, and Dolohov,” Dumbledore said, exhaustion evident in his voice. “They were found barely a ten minute’s broom ride away from the Grangers. Once they went on the run, their Apparation abilities and licenses were taken away, which was a new measure the Ministry implicated to criminals who have committed the most heinous of crimes. Because of this, they were forced to fly to commit the attack, which made it very easy for the Order members to find them.”

Still angry, Draco prodded, “And? Where are they now? What’s going to happen to them?”

The exhaustion in Dumbledore’s voice changed to disapproval and disgust. “They were extremely drunk and, it appeared afterwards, had been using Pixie Dust and smoking Merlin’s Pipe.” He spat out the name of the recreational drugs that had become popular in the shadiest crowds, and Draco felt his lips twist into a sneer. Even though the older Avery was getting on in years, he, as well as his son and his son’s friend, had been extremely addicted to drugs. It was the part of their lives that the Dark Lord had despised the most, as he had wanted his followers to be completely sober when they committed their crimes.

It had been Lucius’ reasoning to not do drugs when Draco had been a child. “Don’t do drugs, because the Dark Lord will find out and you will be tortured,” he had commanded, even though he believed the Dark Lord was gone. At the time, Draco had idolized his father and it had been drilled in his mind that drugs were a no-no.

“Unfortunately,” Dumbledore slowly began, dragging Draco out of his memories. He paused and collected his thoughts. “Due to their high state of inebriation, they ended up killing themselves by flying into various objects and crashing, breaking their necks.”

Shocked, Draco stared at the headmaster. “So, you’re telling me that Avery, Avery, and Dolohov, who tortured my in-laws, are dead. And they’re dead because of their own stupidity, and not because justice was being served?” he asked.

Dumbledore nodded gravely. “I’m sorry, my boy,” he said softly. “I agree with you fully. Justice should have been served. Yet, I believe that, in a way, it has been. Karma served its justice instead of the Ministry, but justice has been served either way.” When Draco didn’t say anything, Dumbledore took the cue and left. “Good night, Mr. Malfoy. Please extend my condolences to your wife.”