Okay, every great story has to have some great reason why it was written. My reason is simple and sweet. I believe that if Snape hadn't freaking burst through that door, Malfoy would be on the good side. I am a Malfoy supporter.

Don't own anything…

In Transit for You

Chapter 1: Reflection

Hermione Granger was now eighteen years of age and staring out a foggy window like a five year old waiting for their mom to get home from Christmas shopping so they could peak in the bags of presents. She was waiting for an owl that would bring her good or bad news. She closed her eyes and tried to remember how exactly it had happened. All the years of hating, all the years of screw-you's and fuck offs, and even a fist fight to all turn into a trust mightier than the human being itself. Yes, she was thinking of Draco Malfoy who was presumed dead by both the good and the bad side of the war. The night that Snape killed Dumbledore, Malfoy was about to throw down his wand and become good. Harry did not believe this theory that Hermione had proposed, but right now, Harry had little faith in anything or anyone. She didn't know exactly how this had happened, but she knew where and when it had started.

The night she had seen Ron with Lavender and sent an army or transfigured birds at Ron's head, she had been so upset; she went to the only place she could think of. She ran out to the Quidditch pitch sobbing and sat in the Gryffindor stands to cry. But pretty soon she was joined by a dreadfully familiar, yet equally sad Malfoy.

"What are you doing up here?" he asked sitting next to her.

"I should ask you the same question, she responded trying to conceal her tears.

"I asked you first, besides; I'm on a Quidditch team. I have every right to be here," he said. Hermione looked at him with red eyes and sighed. What damage could it do?

"I just saw something I didn't want to," she told him hugging her knees.

"What? Weasel and Brown?" he said surprised. "Honestly Granger, you shouldn't cry over him."

"He knew I liked him and he goes off and starts snogging Lavender Fucking Brown."

Malfoy was taken aback; he had never heard Hermione cuss before. It made her seem normal and not a freakishly smart weirdo. "I'm such a fool," she cried.

"Granger, out of the two of us, I'm the bigger fool," he told her sadly.

"What do you mean?"

"Out of the two of us, which has made a commitment to someone they want dead at this point? Out of the two of us, which one is suffering for a lord they don't believe should fulfill the prophecy? Which one of us is evil, when all they want to do is live without any trouble?" Hermione looked at him as if for the first time. Was Harry right about his suspicions? Was Malfoy a death eater?

"I know what you are thinking," Malfoy said.

"Mal…Draco, are you one of…them?" she stammered. Malfoy couldn't look at her.

"Yes," he replied.

Hermione felt a leap in her stomach. She saw an owl looming in the distance through the fog of the night. She remembered the promise she had made to him last year in the stands, she promised never to tell anyone and has, so far, kept to that promise. Ever since that night, she had been sending owls to him and they had formed what you could call a friendship. She felt like she lived for these letters at this point in the war. She still saw Harry and Ron of course, but they were always talking about the Order. Would it kill them to just once talk about something human? A tap on the window ripped her from her thoughts. She opened her window to let the owl in. A letter with familiar handwriting on the outside fell into her lap.