An old woman sat in a rocking chair next to the dust-covered window of an abandoned room. Her sad brown eyes fluttered shut, scenes of a broken past flickering through her mind.
"Enemies of the Heir, beware! You'll be next, Mudbloods!"
"He's the enemy, Hermione!"
Who was really the enemy, Ron? Krum, or Malfoy? Hermione thought sadly. She remembered all too well the feeling in the pit of her stomach when she saw Pansy Parkinson draped on Draco Malfoy's arm. Her high-pitched, sickeningly sweet voice. Her beautiful hair, her expensive dress robes. The memory stood out in her mind. She couldn't even shine with the most famous Quidditch player in the world as her date.
Now, sixty years later, all she wished is that she had said what she had always wanted to say.
"I love you, Draco Malfoy."
She whispered it, the words hardly echoing in the bare room. A newspaper sat in her lap - the Daily Prophet. An old issue, from nearly fifty years ago. She glanced down at it, tears forming in her eyes.
SON OF RICH DARK WIZARD DEAD; MINISTRY STILL DECIPHERING THE MYSTERY
The son of Lucius Malfoy, well-known Dark wizard and You-Know-Who supporter, was found dead in his room at the Malfoy Manor early this morning. The cause of death is still uncertain.
Draco Malfoy worked for the Ministry of Magic, and many close to him say he was training to be an Auror. "He had always seemed to me a You-Know-Who supporter, but he approached me and asked if he could train to become an Auror." Ron Weasley, Auror, reported. "Harry [Potter] and I didn't really think we could trust him."
A letter was found in Malfoy's desk, to a woman who shall remain nameless. His wife, Pansy Parkinson, sent it off just outside our offices. "I never liked her, but this is out of respect for Draco." Parkinson sobbed.
Funeral and memorial services will be held at the Malfoy Manor next week.
Hermione shut her eyes, trying to block the inevitable tears. When her breathing slowed and she had calmed, she opened her eyes. She saw Draco Malfoy standing in front of her.
"Hello, Hermione." His deep voice echoed in the dim room.
"Draco?" Of course it's Draco, you idiot. Who else could it be?
He held a letter out to her. Her name was clearly printed on the front in Draco's tidy handwriting. "You never read this." He held it out to her.
Hermione shook her head furiously. "No. No, Draco, I can't read it. I can't hear what you have to say. It hurts…It hurts too much, Draco, you must understand." She pleaded.
Draco's sad eyes looked at her, looked into her own sad eyes. Grey meets brown. "How can you move on unless you face the past, Hermione? How can you accept your future without accepting your past?"
"I'm sure I'll manage somehow."
Draco laughed sadly, a half-smile lingering on his face. "You can't, Hermione." There was a long pause. "I heard you were headmistress after Dumbledore died." Hermione nodded. "I'm sure you were a great headmistress."
"How did you die, Draco?" Hermione interrupted.
The smile disappeared from Draco's young face. "Lack of love, Hermione. We can't exist without love. I thought I could, but I'm not strong like my father was. My father could live without everything. As long as he had his brilliant mind, he was fine. But not me…I needed love, but it was something I could never have, and I couldn't deal with that."
"But I loved you, Draco! It's the one thing I wanted to tell you, for my entire life! The one thing I regret is never saying those three simple words." Hermione cried, tears streaming down her face. "I loved you. I still love you."
Draco smiled at her, his grey eyes sparkling. "I waited a lifetime to hear that, Hermione." Her turned and walked away, setting the letter on the floor.
"No! Draco, don't leave me again! I love you…" Hermione cried as she fell to the floor, sobbing. She crawled to the door, picking up the old, yellowed envelope and opening it carefully. She unfolded the creased paper.
I love you - I'm sorry.