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Chapter 21 –Singing in the Rain:

He didn't know how long he watched her from the window, but long enough that when he went back over to the table, his quiche was cold. He finished his salad, his glass of wine, and he called for an elf to clear the table. He went to the lounge, and sat in what he now referred to, at least in his own head, as her chair. He continued to watch her from the large arched windows. She stood up and started walking farther away from the house. He believed he should let her have her privacy, but it had been over an hour, and the twilight sky was grey, as if a summer evening shower was on the way. He had to follow.

He walked out through the screened porch and out the French doors. He saw her as she started across the rose garden. Should he call her name? He would just continue to follow her instead.

Hermione remembers the day she went to meet Draco:

While Hermione was walking along the stone path, her thoughts went to that 'fateful' day. The day she was to meet Draco. She stayed in bed that day until she was sure Roger would be at work. She didn't want to face him. However, when she finally showered and dressed, and went down for breakfast, he was inexplicably still there. He was reading his paper, and drinking his coffee, at his normal place at the table.

"Roger, it's after 9:00 am, aren't you going to be late?" she asked, praying he was not staying home that day.

"Yes, well, I've had a slow moving morning. I'm about ready to go in. How are you this morning?" He seemed anxious.

"I'm okay," she answered. She made some tea, and ate her cereal at the counter while the kettle was on the stove.

He stood up, left his coffee cup at the table, as he did everyday, knowing she would put it in the sink. He folded his paper, as he did everyday, leaving it on the counter, knowing she would pick it up and put it in the bin. He walked over to her, kissed her cheek, as he did every day, knowing that his lack of affection was affecting her, but NOT knowing how to change things.

"I love you, Hermione," he said.

"I know you do, Roger," was the only way she could honestly respond. The whistle blew, and she ignored it as she watched him walk out the front door. She poured her water, drank her tea, and then sat at the kitchen table and cried for a solid hour.

She went to her bedroom and packed her bag, but after she packed, she went over to her desk to write to 'her friend' and tell him that she couldn't make it. She wrote him yesterday asking him to drive, knowing she couldn't apparate anywhere this far along in her pregnancy. She looked at the short little note he wrote back. "I'll be in a silver SUV." That's all it said. How could she not show up, and break his heart? How could she show up and break Roger's heart? Why was life so hard?

How could she take her baby away from his father? Maybe the baby would be happier if his parents were happier, and she would be happier away from Roger. If she stayed, she would never know happiness again, she was convinced of that. If she left, perhaps they all would have a chance of happiness. Roger might find another woman, settle down, and be happy. What if her son's stepmother hated him as much as her stepmother hated Hermione? She couldn't do that to her baby. Her son.

She screamed in frustration and threw a bottle of Roger's cologne across the room where it shattered and made the whole room smell like him. Great. She didn't even repair the mess. She just left it as it was.

Hermione walked downstairs and put her suitcase by the front door. She was tired of all this back and forth. She needed to make a decision and stick to it. She decided she wasn't going. She would take her suitcase back upstairs later.

It wasn't because she was afraid. It was because she wasn't, and that was what scared her. She took his last little note out of her pocket and put it on the kitchen table next to Roger's coffee mug. Who was this mystery man? She had wondered that so many times. What if it was someone truly evil and someone who was not sorry for anything he had done? What if this was an elaborate farce, a joke, at her expense.

No, it could not be. It had to be real. She could tell by his letters that he was sincere. He was so open about himself. He had exposed himself in so many ways, just not his name. Of course, she never really pressed the matter. If she had, he might have told her who he was. He did tell her to keep an open mind when she met him that first time. Did that mean that he thought she would be surprised at his identity? That might not be a good sign. Good thing she had decided not to meet him. He might not be too happy to see an eight-month pregnant woman, either.

It boiled down to two truths, which were undeniable.

If she left, she would hurt her husband.

If she stayed, she would hurt her friend and herself.

She had lived her whole life for others; shouldn't she finally live life for herself? Life was short and precious, and a person only gets one chance at it, so they should make it good, she reasoned. She was tired of putting others before herself. Where was her reward for her selfless acts?

If only she had someone, one person to whom she could confide. If she tried to tell Harry or Ron about this man, they would turn on their 'Auror' mode, and want to investigate him. They would hunt him down and scare him away. Even if she was truthful to them and told them how unhappy her life was, they would tell her to be sensible, and to think things over. They would remind her not to throw away her whole existence for a man she didn't even know. Those were the things she would say if the roles were reversed.

What should she do? What if her father had left his wife, as he had promised her mother he was going to do? He waited until the day they were to part to tell her that he was married, but then he promised her that he would tell his wife about them, and he would come for her. He never came, and Hermione's mother carried that grief the rest of her short life. Did she want her friend to abide the same type of grief? Her father went away, and didn't try to contact her mother again. He didn't even know he had a daughter until she was over three years old. Her mother may never have told him if she hadn't become ill.

Hermione wondered how much easier and less complicated her life might have been if her mother had never told her father about her. She would have been happy with just her grandparents. After all, wasn't ignorance bliss? Hence, she should take her baby away and just never tell Roger where they were. The baby would be happy. Or not.

She should have stopped writing to her friend the moment she found out she was pregnant. Hermione would take the brunt of the blame there. He might not even want children. Hermione wrote him right after she found out she was pregnant and asked him his thoughts on children. He wrote back that he thought they were okay. She laughed. She knew from his letters that he had a lonely and isolated childhood, and he had written several times that he thought he would not make a very good father.

One time he wrote her and asked her if she wanted children. She was already five months pregnant when she received that letter. She wrote him back, and in her response she wrote that, yes, she wanted children, 'someday'. He didn't have to know that 'someday' was only a few months away.

Perhaps he wouldn't want to raise another man's child. He might resent it. It might remind him too much of her ex-husband. He might hate it, and cause its childhood to be bleak and depressing, like Monica did to hers. Every time Monica looked at Hermione, she was reminded of her husband's lover. Would her friend feel the same about her child?

She finally made her decision. She would never submit her child to the same childhood she had. He would have two parents, and even if they did not love each other, they would love him.

She went to go pick up her suitcase, to take it upstairs, when Roger came home. He told her that he knew about the letters. He begged her not to go. She tried to get a word in edgewise, to tell him that she was not going anywhere, but he just kept begging and pleading and it made her ill. Finally, he told her not to be selfish, to please think about their child, and to stop thinking only of herself.

Damn him! If he would let her talk, he would have known that she was thinking only of their child, and she had decided to stay. She was so angry with him that she decided right there and then that she couldn't face another day with that man. She picked up her suitcase and ran outside. He followed. His car was blocking hers in the driveway. Well, she would just have to take his car. She left her keys on the table anyway, and he always left his in the ignition.

She opened the back door and heaved her suitcase inside. Of course, Roger didn't want the neighbours to see them arguing, so he stayed by the front door. 'Goodbye, Roger', she thought. She backed out of the driveway, and started down the road, speeding because she was late. It was already two o'clock. Her little argument with Roger had made her late. Please, still be there! Please, wait for her!

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Back to the present:

The rain finally started falling. It was a warm summer rain, and to Hermione Granger, the rain felt glorious. She thought that if the rain could just continue, it might wash away all her disgrace and guilt, and she could find peace. She started back toward Draco's house, when she saw him. He pretended to admire a pink rose bush. In the rain. Did he think she was stupid? He was following her, but he was pretending not to be following her, yet he was following her. How funny to pretend to take a stroll in the rain.

She walked up to him and said, "Nice evening for a stroll." The rain was splashing in her eyes. She put her hand over her eyes, on her forehead, so she could see.

"Yes, very nice," he said back, pushing his hair out of his eyes, off his forehead. "Listen, Granger, before you say something inane like 'I'm sorry', just please, think twice. Don't say anything. You have no reason to apologize, because you did nothing wrong. We both know what went on in the Manor's drawing room, and now neither of us has to mention it ever again. Likewise, let me be the one to say that I'm sorry. You know, that was the reason I sought you out originally, to apologize to you. There, that's my truth for the day."

Hermione wasn't even thinking of that anymore. She pushed her wet hair out of her face, and ran her hand across her forehead. She shook her head and said, "I don't have a truth in return for you, sorry."

"I gave you a truth," he reasoned.

"I'm tired of telling the truth. Let me lie to you instead," she said.

"I doubt you would be very good at it," he told her. He put his hand over his eyes now. "Give it a try, if you'd like. It won't be very good."

"I think I'm tired of lying, also, but I think I'm a better liar than you might suspect," she told him back.

"I doubt that, too. Keeping things to yourself isn't lying. A lie of omission is not a lie, no matter what anyone says. Now, give me your best lie." Draco put his hand on her arm, drawing her closer.

"Fine, I don't think you're pretentious. I think you are a pompous git," she said, shaking her head again to clear the rain from her eyes.

"That better be a lie, although I fear it's the truth. Consequently, you owe me a true lie," he said, "and then I'll tell you another truth."

"I love Monica," she said, grinning.

"I didn't say tell me the biggest lie on earth," he said with sarcasm. "You're bloody ridiculous, standing out here in the rain like this."

"Is that your truth? By the way, I don't seem to be standing out in the rain by myself. You were the one out here smelling the roses in the rain." She laughed. "Tell me another truth."

"Okay, I lied earlier when I said I've never eaten in the kitchen. I had a piece of candy in there once," he joked. "Let's get out of the rain, Granger."

He took her hand and led her back toward the house. They went into the screened porch, which offered only slightly more coverage from the rain. He sat down in a chaise lounge, and pulled her down with him. She stayed at the end, by his feet.

He began to tap her leg with his foot. She grabbed his foot and said, "Please, I bruise easily."

"I don't doubt that, come up here and join me, and I shall protect you," he said, holding out his arms. She moved so she was sitting between his legs, against his chest. His arms went over hers. "Should we go change?"

"No," she said simply. "Tell me, what about my letters made you fall in love with me?"

"I might have been in love with you before the letters," he answered vaguely.

"Right, in school you loved me." She smiled. She looked back at his face.

"Not love, but admired, just a wee bit," he said.

"Now who's lying?" she asked. Her hands rubbed his arms, which were around her stomach.

"Why didn't you tell me you were pregnant?" he asked. He felt her tense in his arms. He tightened his hold. "Don't ruin this moment by over-thinking things, Hermione. I'm not asking anything about that night. I want to know why you didn't tell me you were pregnant."

She thought for a moment. That was an innocent enough question. "I didn't tell you at first, because I never imagined that you would want to meet me. We had been writing for months, and we had even already declared our feelings, but you hadn't mentioned wanting to meet yet, and I felt that I couldn't mention it, and there wasn't really a reason to anyway. The baby was something between my husband and me, not between you and me." She didn't mean to be crass, but that was how she saw it at the time. "Can you imagine what you would have said if you saw me pregnant?" She knew asking that question was treading on thin ice.

"I might have just thought you had gotten fat," he joked. "You know, I tried to go see you a few times, before we even agreed to meet. I went to the Ministry, and even walked through your department twice. I drove by your house once. I really did. I was your own personal stalker." He kissed her ear. She moved her shoulder to push his mouth from her.

"I wish I had known it was you, all along. I should have asked. If I did, would you have answered?" she asked. She moved to face him, so her legs were over one arm of the chaise lounge, her back against the other arm.

"Truth time, again, Hermione. I really thought you had probably figured it out, even though I was still scared that if you hadn't, you might run away when you saw me. Deep down I believed you knew. Didn't you have a notion, at all?" He brushed his hand down her cheek, cupping her face, rubbing his thumb back and forth on her rain, kissed skin.

"I was in denial, but deep down, I hoped it might be you. But in all seriousness, I was never one hundred percent sure. I really wasn't. I don't know how I didn't know. I should have. You tried to tell me, and I was too afraid to ask." She threw her legs back to the ground, and pushed up off the chaise, her right hand on his thigh as she stood. "Wait here," she said.

She returned with a letter in hand. She sat back down at the edge of the chaise, and said, "This letter was the one that made me wonder if it was you. You wanted me to find out, and all I had to do was ask. It was one of the letters that was burnt the worse today, so I reread it many times today, and it reminded me that I had a suspicion it was you, and you had a wish for me to find out."

She began to read:

Hermione,

I know it probably will not matter, but nothing is as it seems. It's only the way I want it to seem. I wish you knew me, the real me, everything, my name, my face, my thoughts, my past, my future. You've forgave me a long time ago, but sometimes I think that for true redemption to be offered, you have to tell the full truth, and that's something I have yet to do, and I want to. I want to tell you the truth, but I'm a coward, and I cannot muster the courage, but if you ask me, I will find a way to tell you who I really am.

I'm afraid I've always been a coward. I hid behind my name and my persona, faking my way through life. I never knew back then that I would regret my actions later. I wish I had known. And believe me, if you would ever find out my name, I know you wouldn't feel the same about me. I would not expect you to. If you saw the real me, you would know that I really haven't changed that much, and I cannot change any more than I have. I want you to see the real me, but yet, I want you to see what you want to see.

Let me continue to write to you, and continue to be all the things I pretend to be. Let me laugh and cry, and at night, when I'm alone, let me no longer hear your silent screams. I can take the best and worst of you. Can you do the same?

So see me, Hermione, the real me, and all I have to offer. Let me love and comfort you, because believe me; I don't want to feel this way any longer. I don't want to hide. If you ask, I would tell. I would reveal myself to you, if you ask this of me. I want to tell the truth.

Nevertheless, we do not always get what we want.

Your faithful friend – ME

XOXO

She looked up from the letter and said, "Tell me a real truth."

"It's too late for that truth, Hermione, but here's the only truth that matters now. Listen to me carefully, for I mean what I say. If we can get over the whole thing that happened at Malfoy Manor, then we can get over anything. We can put it behind us, and move on. It'll be the biggest obstacle between us, so if we get over it, it'll be downhill from there. Whatever you're hiding from me, whatever you're afraid to tell me, it no longer matters, because it can't be worse than that."

"What if what happened that night at the Manor isn't the biggest impediment between us? What if there is a greater one? What if my one truth, the truth you've been so impatiently waited for, is even bigger than that? Can we get over it? Can you?" she asked. She put the letter on the floor, and ran back out the doors. He followed her back out in the rain. The rain was coming down harder. She was having trouble seeing. She had to increase the volume of her voice to be heard over the current torrential downpour. "Draco, I know you. You'll not be able to forgive yourself for this. I haven't even forgiven myself yet."

"I can't imagine whatever it is that you're afraid to share with me is bigger than what occurred that night, Hermione. Just tell me. Get it over with, and tell me!" he said.

"I can't, because just the fact that I was tortured by your aunt, which you had no culpability in at all, has caused you this much stress and guilt, then I know what I have to tell you will be too much for you, Draco. It will be too much for us. I don't know if I can ever tell you, and for that, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for us both." She started toward her father's farm. He reached for her arm, and she said, "I'll be back, don't follow me!"

"FINE!" he shouted through the rain. "I'm tired too, Granger!" She was already running blinding through the rain, as he continued to shout, "I'm tired, too!"

It had not even dawned on her until that very moment that the words she had just said to Draco were so spot on that it was ludicrous to think otherwise. He could not forgive himself for what happened to her that night eight years ago, so how would he forgive himself when he found out what happened to her the night they were to meet? She should never have gotten in the car with him that first day she arrived back home. She should have walked away and never looked back.