I'll Be Seeing You
Song Writer(s): Kahal/Fain
A mammoth cloud of dust launched into the air as Ron Weasley tripped over one of the many boxes in the airy office. He sneezed loudly.
"Ron! Be careful!" Hermione reprimanded. "These boxes are all that's left of Dumbledore!"
He tried to smile apologetically, but the smile wouldn't come. Being in this office—Dumbledore's old office—made it impossible to smile. It had been years since their old headmaster's death but the feelings of loss magnified tenfold in his office.
A grumbled "I know," was all that escaped Ron's lips as he kneeled to replace the contents back in the box. There were only a few books piled into this one.
Dumbledore had been murdered ten years before and Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had closed its doors soon after. The teachers, all experienced and powerful wizards of the Order of the Phoenix, had abandoned the school to fight the war. Only weeks after Dumbledore's death had the war really flared up. Every available and willing witch and wizard was needed. Though it was not desirable, it was understood throughout the wizarding community.
Now, Hermione and Ron were among those reopening the school. They had been assigned to clean out the office for the new Headmaster. Harry had wanted desperately to do the task himself but he was still searching for the Horcruxes. In the past decade, only one of the four remaining had been found and destroyed. Hermione and Ron had waited as long as possible, putting off the task until the last possible moment. But the term was beginning in less than two weeks and the office would be needed by the new Headmaster.
Hermione brushed the rich curls away from her face as she straitened and pulled out her wand. Being at Hogwarts made her nearly forget she was of age and could perform magic freely. She scoffed at herself and rolled her eyes. Hearing the words in her head, she waved her wand lightly and the stack of boxes at her feet levitated into the golden, particle-filled air and with a POP, vanished.
Ron moved to the open window, feeling the summer afternoon's cool breeze caress his face. His sister Ginny waved up at him, smiling, and her sleek red hair gleaming in the sun. The boxes had been moved into the crate. He turned and looked around the room.
All the knickknacks and devices had been initially packed up the day after Dumbledore's funeral by Professor McGonagall in hopes to move the school past the tragedy and continue the traditions. But with the closure of the school, nothing had been touched since.
Once all the boxes of books had been cleared out, there was still quite a bit to be packed away. Apparently, McGonagall hadn't quite finished the last time someone had been in the office.
"Look!" Ron said, opening an unsealed case. "It's all our folders from school! He must've kept them!"
Hermione stepped across stacks of old Daily Prophets bundled together and looked over Ron's shoulder. "There are loads of them!" she exclaimed, running her fingers along the spines of the finger-thick folders, each individually labeled of each student in their year. On the front of the box, scrawled thickly: Class of 2007. The year they were supposed to graduate in, the first year Hogwarts didn't open. "This is our year, Ron!" she said excitedly and looked for their own folders.
Ron found his first. He winced as he pulled it from the tightly-bound case, being dreadfully careful not to damage it.
In awe, he lifted the cover. A photograph of three of them: Harry, Hermione, and himself clipped from the Prophet. He felt for Hermione's hand that rested on his shoulder and took it. She squeezed his hand back. He could feel her grinning as thumb toyed with the engagement ring he'd given her two years before. Then he saw it: his Prefect badge. He'd left it in Dumbledore's office on their last day at Hogwarts, feeling that it was his last tribute to Dumbledore. His breath caught in his throat. He hadn't been expecting to see his badge ever again.
All three of them had left something there that day. He, his badge. Hermione knew what she would find in her folder. She'd left her worn copy of Hogwarts, a History. And Harry. Harry had left his invisibility cloak.
While Ron relished his own memories of Hogwarts: the friends, the enemies, everyone; Hermione continued to browse about the room. Random Muggle objects (a telephone, an odd computer mouse, and a coffee mug) lie about the room. But most curious of all was an ancient record player.
There it sat. In the midst of all these technological gadgets and magical prizes. It seemed so simple, so out of place it was right at home in its snug corner.
Hermione moved closer to get a better look, wading through her old Headmaster's possessions.
It was empty. There was no record loaded under the needle.
"Hey, Hermione!" Ron called.
She turned and faced her husband.
"What's this?" He held up an uncased record in his long, freckly hands. "Here," he said, giving it to her. He'd only just found it in Hermione's folder.
Hermione read the label. Frank Sinatra; I'll Be Seeing You. "How did he get this?" she mumbled to herself. It wasn't possible… She glanced up. Perhaps Ron was playing a prank on her.
But no. Ron had gotten bored and returned back to his box of treasures.
Sighing, Hermione loaded the record and waved her wand, starting it.
The black plastic swung round and round, blurring the words of the label.
A sway of saxophone, trumpets. A few chords of piano, the smooth, resonant words.
He came closer. With his handsome, sharp face and stony eyes. He grinned at her.
She backed up, to keep a good, safe space between them. She bumped a record player. With the jostle, the odd machine began to play…
They were in this office. Dumbledore's office. For a Prefect Officer Meeting. Only she and Draco. They were waiting in Dumbledore's office. He promised he'd only be gone a minute. Only a few minutes with the ferret. Just a few minutes.
She found herself smiling back. After all, this type of thing didn't happen to her often. She, Hermione Granger, was always the friend, the buddy. Never the girl boys wanted to be with.
"I've always liked you, you know?" he murmured.
She looked away, trying to ignore him despite the pull of her attraction. Only a few more minutes…
"But how can I lo—have feelings for—a mudblood?"
SLAP.
Hermione's hand trembled as she watched a red patch appear on his pale skin. "How dare you?" Her voice wobbled as she spoke. Quietly, though. Soft and dangerous.
Draco rubbed his cheek. "I'm sorry."
Her voice strengthened. "No, you're not. I don't believe you're sorry at all."
He looked away. Out the window. "You're right. I guess I'm not," he said apathetically, as though he couldn't care less.
Outside, it was warm and balmy. The end of the term, early June. They could hear their classmates laughing and playing games out in the fresh air. Only a few more minutes…
"I really do like you, Granger."
She really did want to believe him. She really did. And that's what squashed her heart. If she allowed herself this, it would be a betrayal to everything she knew, her whole world. "No. Draco, you can't like me."
Draco's eyes flared momentarily. "And why the hell not?"
Hermione winced. "We know you're a Death Eater."
Not a muscle in Draco's face flinched. He remained still as a stone. "You're wrong. I didn't choose this."
She averted the fixated glare. "I never said you did."
He moved closer still. So close, she could feel the fabric of his robes against the bare skin of her leg. She wanted to move it away from the touch. But she couldn't. Only a few more minutes…
"I was always jealous of you, Granger. And how could I not be? You, who beat me in everything. Every subject, every test. Every contest. All of it."
Hermione looked away as he took her chin in his fingers, gently.
"And now, we're all alone and I want you."
A perfect, crystalline tear tore down her cheek. A scratchy breath escaped from her.
With his other hand, Draco wiped away the tear, stroking her cheek to calm her.
The act was so tender it brought tears to even Draco's eyes. He didn't know why and could feel his conscience scolding him, telling him to turn back, that the waters had become too murky and uncertain. Only a few more minutes…
Her smile broke open, sending waves of happiness into Draco's heart. She laughed. A laugh that seemed all too exquisite and magical for even Dumbledore's office.
Draco reached out and toyed with a rich curl of her wild mane of hair. "I do love you," he said quietly, eyes boring into hers.
This time, she didn't slap nor reject him. A gentle hand met his in her hair. "I think I love you too…"
Hermione tangled Draco's hand in her hair, easing it to the base of her neck.
He could feel her pulse beating in her throat. Her heart was beating with his.
She moved closer. Their lips were nearly touching. Only a few more minutes…
"Are you sure?" he whispered, his lips brushing hers.
Hermione nodded and turned up her head.
Releasing their passion and hunger, long held tight inside, they saw the sparks and light of the other, their long-held love.
Hermione returned to the present. In Dumbledore's office nearly ten years later with her husband, Ron Weasley. The shivers of that moment still ran down her spine and arms. All these years and she still couldn't believe what they'd done. She had kissed the Death Eater, the boy who'd end up allowing the murder of Dumbledore. She'd never told a soul. Not Harry, nor Ginny. Not even Ron. And the longer Hermione thought, she knew she never would. That kiss would be hers and Draco's secret, for he would never tell either. But that moment…it was its own lovely little memory in the far, dusty corners of her heart.
Still, she couldn't believe that Draco really was a Death Eater, a servant of the Dark Lord. He always seemed so much like a child that it seemed hardly possible he was capable of such atrocities. Even Harry said that Draco had been unable to murder Dumbledore.
And when she thought of what could-have-been, she sighed and shook her head. She'd clearly made the right choice. Glancing up at Ron's form bent over the box, oblivious to her, she knew she was right not to have gone after Draco again. But at least she knew now. She would never wonder what-if.
Hermione sighed. She was a blessed woman.
The chords dwindling away, the final lines swung into the sunny room.
"I'll be looking at the moon but I'll be seeing you."
"What was that?" Ron asked, standing up and patting the dusk from the knees of his jeans.
The last sound died away, leaving a knowing smile on Hermione's lips. "Nothing, Ron. It was nothing. Just a memory."
Gar. Sorry bout the absense. Got turned into admin. and had to edit the story. The man said I was being bad. No. Lol. Not really. Lyrics in the story are bad. They threw off my groove. So now its a little off because the lyrics were part of the memory but oh well. Please review, yo.