Harry Potter Finding The Key

Finding The Key

Oneshot

Draco was in a bad mood, as usual. The vanishing cabinet still wasn't working the way it should, and he had run out of ideas. The Dark Lord would not be pleased. Maybe he should as Snape for help. But he knew that it wasn't a good idea; besides, he was the one who had been chosen for the task.

A quiet, almost inaudible sound made him halt in his furious march through the corridors. Had he heard correctly? He was about to continue on, but there it was again. A sob, then another.

The young man smiled darkly; this would offer him the distraction he needed. He pressed his ear against a few classroom doors until he found the right one, and pushed it open quietly. At first, he could only see shadows in the dimly lit, seemingly empty classroom. The curtains had been drawn, and Draco quickly scanned the room with his eyes until he found what he was looking for. A young girl, sitting in the corner of the room, her face buried in her hands. Her shoulders were shaking in the effort of keeping her sobs under control, but to no avail.

"Would you look at that, it's mudblood Granger. Lost a precious book of yours, perhaps?"

Her head shot up and she stared at him, wide-eyed.

"Get out, Malfoy" she snapped, drawing her wand.

"Or what? You gonna hex me?" Draco had had reason to fear her spells over the past school years, but at the moment, the sight of the young girl entertained him way too much for him to care.

He folded his arms in front of his chest and waited.

For a moment, it looked as if Hermione was going to give him an answer, but then her eyes filled up with tears again, and she started crying uncontrollably. Draco was taken aback.

"Too much drama" he muttered and took a step back. Still, the fact that she was crying made him curious, beyond the usual level of curiosity he felt towards her and what was going on in her head.

"Where's Potter?" he tried again, his curiosity carefully masked by his disgusted tone of voice. She didn't reply, but he could tell that she was forcing herself to breathe evenly.

He felt a sort of sick satisfaction at her display of weakness, until he realized that it was because that meant that he wasn't alone in that aspect. He wasn't the only one to feel weak, to cry and hide. Maybe she was scared, just like him, and maybe it was something else entirely. He could only guess.

And then he was disgusted at himself, and it took him a while to figure out why. His first reaction was to think it was because he thought of her as an equal. But then he realised that she was. She was only human, just like him, she had her pride and her fears, and she cried and bled just the way he did. And that he was disgusted for having felt better because she was crying, for having laughed at her pain.

Those feelings disturbed him, and got to him in a way he had never experienced before. Those things had never occurred to him, and he knew it was because of his father and the way he had been brought up.

But this insight came too late. Draco and this girl were in a war, fighting on different sides. He didn't know what to do. If he left now, this realisation would be for nothing. But what did it matter anyway? It made no difference. He could just walk out the door, and find distraction elsewhere. Then he realised that he wanted it to matter. That this was the most important thing that had happened to him since he had been initiated to the Death Eaters. It wasn't a tangible change, but it had been done by him alone.

Without thinking, he sat down next to Hermione. She immediately moved away from him, but he stayed where he was. He needed to think. Staring at her absent-mindedly, he knew that she was no mudblood in the sense of being dirty-blooded, and that she wasn't inferior. Those thoughts would not help him fighting against her when it came down to it, he knew that. Maybe there was a way around that.

Draco thought of his own desperation and the feeling of wanting to give up. Sometimes, he wished he could be someone else. He would never admit it to anyone, but he knew that he was afraid. He was a coward, taking pride in the dark power that came from terrorising the weak. And the same way he couldnt fight on the side he wanted to fight on because it wasn't meant for him, he didnt ask what was the matter. It was hopeless.

"Shouldn't Potter be here?" he asked roughly, rhis time trying to cover up his confusion. He knew that it was a pathetic attempt at conversation, but he might as well give it a try. "Or Weasel?"

At the sound of Ron's name, Hermione started sobbing again. Draco's eyes widened in understanding.

"Are you _kidding_ me?" he breathed. "This has gotta be a sick joke."

The young girl continued crying, and he ran his fingers through his hair.

"You know this is all just really funny" he said, falling back to his usual state of mind. "Though I might not have believed it if I hadn't..."

From the corner of his eye, he had seen her move. She was quick, but his training gave him an advantage. H caught her wrist before her fist could make contact with his jaw, and held it fast. Hermione tried hitting him with her other hand, but again, he was faster.

She was now barely a few inches away from him, and he could see the freckles on her reddened cheeks and the angry glint in her eyes. As the seconds ticked by, her expression changed and her eyes filled up with tears again.

'That bad?' Draco wondered, but he said nothing. He was still holding her wrists, but somehow he could not get himself to let them go. He hated himself for his weakness.

In a deliberate, careful movement, he removed one of his hands from her wrist and leaned back against the wall. He closed his eyes for a moment and knew that he wanted only thing ting: to get out and leave. He had his own problems to solve, and finding Hermione in this state brought about too many emotions that he wasn't willing to deal with, starting with his own lack of courage and strength.

Suddenly, he opened his eyes and looked down. Hermione had buried her face in his chest, her shoulders shaking once again. The young man was frozen in shock. What was she thinking? Draco was torn between pushing her away and running out, and putting his arms around her, as if to protect her. Instead, he did nothing and simply sat there, motionless.

This was ridiculous. He did not feel the urge to push her away because she was who she was, namely an enemy, but because this was all getting too much for him to handle. He wanted to run, like he always did.

He made himself look at her again, and noticed that she must be awfully uncomfortable, judging by the way she was sitting. Her torso was twisted towards him so that she could hide her face, while the rest of her body was turned away.

Hesitantly, and trying not to disturb her, he picked her up and repositioned her against his chest. Her legs were now placed over his and so that she was practically sitting on his lap, only that her legs were facing to their left. She now could lean into him more easily, which she did.

He thought he knew how she felt, abandoned and in need of someone to old on to. Why Potter wasn't here he did not know, and it didn't matter. He didn't even know why his mind kept on running back to Potter. Maybe because he was so used to seeing them together. But if he was quite honest with himself, he was happy that no one else was here.

He finally put his arms loosely around her, and to his surprise, she rested her head on his shoulder. He found comfort in her closeness, and revelled in the illusion of being able to do the same for her.

Her breathing evened out, only broken by an occasional sob; he could feel it, warm against his neck. Hermione's eyes were closed, but he could tell that she wasn't asleep by her uneven heartbeat. He felt it, right next to his own.

But Hermione could not get away from him. He gave her exactly what she wanted, and needed: comfort. In his arms, she felt better, and though she knew that it was Draco and that she shouldn't feel that way with him, she couldn't help it. His scent contributed to the feeling of security and comforted her more than anything, along with his warmth.

She refused to open her eyes for fear to let the moment pass, and concentrated entirely on the feeling of his warm body against hers. Neither of them moved for a long time. They knew that a single word could, and more importantly, would destroy their proximity. It was as if they were made to make the other feel better, like a drug, and as forbidden.

After what felt like hours, Draco's arms slid off her shoulders and his head tilted to the side, and she knew that he had fallen asleep. Hermione wondered if anyone had been looking for her. At the same time, she was happy that no one had found her. She was feeling more peaceful than she had in weeks, and it took a considerable effort for her to get up and leave the sleeping young man behind.

"Thank you" she whispered into his ear, knowing that those words were all she could give him. She stared at him for a long moment, at his pale face and drawn features, and allowed her eyes to settle on his soft lips. His usual sneer gone, he looked…different.

Hermione tore her gaze away from him and, without turning back, she left, softly closing the door behind her.

Draco awoke a few hours later. It took him a while to figure out how where he was, but he quietly got up and looked around. Then he remembered. The room seemed cold and empty; he knew that she had changed him,.

As if in trance, he walked to the room of requirements and went to stand in front of the vanishing cabinet. He concentrated and recited the spell, but like in the morning, nothing happened.

Without being able to help himself, he thought of her. She was stronger than she seemed, but he had learned today that she was also more sensitive than she let on. He thought of her tears, and the way she had felt in his arms. Innocent and almost fragile, though he knew that it wasn't true.

Concentrating on that image, he recited the spell again and immediately knew that it had worked. That was it; she was the key. He knew that she would hate the thought if she knew, but would keep it to himself. It was his little secret, and no one would take it away from him. He turned and left.

This was the first step to victory.


End file.
