***I AM SO SORRY! Yeah, I'm NOT dead! I couldn't get into my account for the longest time! It turns out I was entering the wrong e-mail adress...don't I feel stupid! I litterally just figured this out not even two seconds ago!***
Disclaimer: (Why do we need these? The site's called "", isn't it?) I don't own Harry Potter. If I did Ginny Weasley would be dead, Ronald would have the worst life possible (including losing Hermione to one of his brothers in front of God and everyone), Hermione would be with Fred or George, and Fred would be alive.
This story is a song-fic to Taylor Swift's song "You're not sorry".
This story is dedicated to the beloved memory of Dylan Bennett Klebold.
September 11, 1981~April 20th, 1999
"Youg're Not Sorry"
Rated: T+ throughM
Date Written: Saturday, July 26, 2009
Written By:Emelie E. Carter
Setting:London, England (Harry Potter Realm)
ALL CHARACTERS are ADULTS
WARNING:Contains Cursing, violence, alcohol abuse, and possibly offensive language, not for the faint hearted.
**This is a one-shot unless many people beg me to continue, and give me ideas.**
It was a late Tuesday evening, just around 9:03pm. There was a horrid storm howling and screaming away. It was pouring down rain as if God himself were crying.
The restless storm frequently sounded off loud streams of thunder and lighting, which was lighting up the sky with what seemed to be pure rage.
"Damn it, Hermione! WHY TO YOU HAVE TO BE SUCH AN ANNOYING, STUBBORN BITCH!" then, he did exactly what she expected. He slapped her with enough force to knock her on the cold, hard floor on her side. The hot tears from her battered cheek mingled with the blood from her cracked lip. It was just a repeat of what happened every time he came home drunk.
He slowly walked in front of her and kicked her side like a dog, causing her to yelp in pain. "Hey! Get up! Get up you worthless *hic* prat*! Move it! I'm *hic* not done with teaching *hic* you decent respect!
Hermione kept telling herself that he had no control over his actions in this state. Every time this happened, but she knew in the back of her mind he had a hell of lot of control! She was sick of this.
'Maybe…I deserve it. Maybe…God is angry with me for doing something wrong in my past. I wish that he'd make it stop! Hear my plea! I've learned my lesson,
J-just make it stop! I'll do anything! Please…'
It's taken this long, baby, but I figured you out…
You're thinking we'll be fine again, but not this time around,
She was so sick of this! 'Stand up for yourself damn it! You are Hermione Granger! Not some shy little girl anymore!' Still lying on the cold, hard floor she screamed/sobbed,
"Just stop it! STOP IT! I'VE HAD ENOUGH OF YOUR-"
He silenced her with a foot to the stomach. "EEK!"
"*hic* Lesson one: DON'T YOU EVER BACK-TALK ME AGAIN! Now, *hic* I'm going out… *hic* I expect a nice… dinner when I get back. *hic*"
She stayed there, lying on the floor, watching as he stumbled tipsily to the door. She did not move an inch until she heard the angelic and wonderful sound of the oak door closing and the car starting.
She slowly and painfully crawled to the overturned nightstand where her precious lifeline lay.
Hermione's whole body was wracking with sobs and she dialed the number with shaky hands. 'Please, please, please, please…pick up.'
"Hello? Fred and George Weasely's residence."
"F-F-Fred…?"
"Hermione! What happened! You sound so…"
"Fred, help me. He came home drunk again. He's gone. Hurry! I need you here! I-I gotta get out of his hell-house! I-I'm not safe anymore!" Hermione officially broke down in wrenched sobs and screams of agony.
"Oh shit! Hermione, why in the hell do you let him do this to you! Just stay where you are' we're coming. If HE comes home…hide!"
The phone disconnected.
From her shattered state on the wood flooring of the mansion, she grabbed a stray piece of parchment and began, with a shaking hand, to write.
10 Minutes later…
Fred and George arrived with their father's small, blue flying muggle car. The Twins were, as always, wearing identical outfits, a simple but sloppily thrown on, black hoodie with blue-jeans and a pair of navy blue Converses. They burst through the unlocked door of the first floor of the estate. They gave each other a look before scrambling all around the house in search for their dear Hermione.
"Hermione!"
"Hermione! Where are you!"
"It's us, Gred and Forge!"
As George started to run past the 3rd floor of the elegant estate, he heard a faint and strained, "I'm here."
He ran backwards, and peered into the darkness of the master bedroom. The lighting of the storm flashed twice; giving one half of the Weasley Twins enough light in those two seconds to know she was tangled in the deep green satin bed sheets on the floor.
"Hey! Forge! I FOUND HERMIONE!"
Within 4 seconds later Fred swiftly arrived…of course, in an extremely tired and panicked state of being.
He shook his head in utter disbelief as lighting flashed again to show him the tangled sheets. "No, oh, dear God no…"
He ran towards the massive bundle of satin sheets with George closely behind him.
Fred began untangling the sheets with great care, for he didn't know how bad her condition was, and was terrified of hurting her even more.
"Shh, Shh…its okay, 'Mione. He can't do this to you anymore…you're safe n-"
Both their eyes widened in fear and realization.
"Shit! I TOLD her to stay where she was!" he hurriedly groaned in frustration as he stood to his full height, and threw the empty, confounded bed sheets to the floor.
"UHHG!" The twins groaned simultaneously.
Fred and George began a cautious search of the room. The Twins searched back-to-back
"See anything, Gred?"
"Nope, it's too bloody dark to see anything! And the storm knocked the power out!"
Fred and George immediately halted their search as they heard a strangled, "…Here…" coming from the giant walk-in closet that George was strategically placed in front of.
He clumsily but vigorously yanked the door open, nearly taking it off its hinges.
There in front of the desperate Weasleys, lay a groggy, broken, bloody, and semi-conscious Hermione Granger. Her petite body leaned against the back wall, clutching the end of some dress robes for support. The rest of her body was sprawled on the carpet lazily.
Her once white sun dress was now tainted with drops of red. Her bottom lip slightly swollen and cracked; her left cheek was bruised a haunting shade of purple. A rip was clearly seen on the bottom of her once innocent and delicate sun dress. Her feet were bare. Hermione's eyes were sleepily halfway closed, fighting to stay awake.
Her curls of honey-brown hair were now disheveled; her mascara was streaked down her battered cheeks indicating that she had been crying. Hermione's once bright and happy face was now dead and colorless compared to the happiness that shone on it on her wedding day, the cursed day that she was bound to this life of pain and violence.
"F-Fred…? George…?" Hermione strangled out from her dry and raspy throat.
"Hermione…" Fred and George breathed with disbelief clearly evident.
"Hermione, I told you to stay where you were…." Fred stated hesitantly while slowly sauntering towards her broken form. Then he delicately picked her up bridal style, and handed her over to George.
They took their time on leaving the hell-hole of an estate.
Hermione limply turned her head weakly to look at Fred.
"Y-you told me to hide if h-he came home. I-I-I thought you were h-him, so I crawled in the closet. …I was so scared he'd find me…" She replied to his question as tears started to form in her deep hazel eyes.
"You don't have to be scared anymore, 'Moine. You don't have to put up with his rubbish he calls "love". We'll take you to Mum; she'll know exactly what to do. You'll be safe." George soothed as he gently laid her in the back of the car seat and flew away from the heart-wrenching scene.
When he pulled into the driveway, a bit more sober, he noticed the door wide open and automatically assumed the worst. He dropped the salmon-colored roses in the driveway, which were Hermione's favorites, and ran into the mansion into the bedroom on the 3rdfloor where he left her.
"Shit! HERMIONE! I'm sorry, I didn't mean it. I'll never do it again! I love you too much! Come out…please." By now he was crying and both his hands tangled in his bleach blonde hair. "Please…"
He checked the kitchen, the closets, living room, storage room, garden, their tree, when he came back to the master bedroom and plopped down onto the bed, he spotted a piece of parchment neatly folded on the pillow.
He opened it slowly, with such fear in his body that his hands were shaking.
Draco,
You don't have to call anymore. I won't pick up the phone. This is the last straw; I don't want to hurt anymore. And you can say that you're sorry, but I don't believe you, baby like I did before. You're not sorry, no, no…
You're looking so innocent,
I might believe you if I didn't know. I could've loved you all my life, if you hadn't left me waiting in the cold. And now you're asking me to listen because it's worked each time before.
There's nothing left to beg for!
You had me falling for you, honey and it never would've gone away- no. You used to shine so bright but I watched all of it fade.
So, you don't have to call anymore…
"Forever Yours," Never Again,
Hermione Granger Malfoy
"No! No!" Draco screamed, "She was all I had left! I lost my father, my mother, my family's reputation, my friends, and now the love of my life! This isn't happening!
…HERMIONE! COME BACK HOME! I'LL BE ANYTHING YOU NEED! DON'T LEAVE ME ALONE!" Draco screamed throughout the night.
Draco's blue-gray eyes that she once loved so much were now tainted with crystal tears.
"There's nothing that I'd rather do, than try and make this up to you…"
"I'd try and do it right this time around…"
'She's gone.'
*Prat: A British slang term meaning, stupid, aggravating, brainless, someone who lacks common sense…ect. Similar to another British slang term, 'git'.