Author's Note: I've been reading too many Harry Potter fanfics lately. So here I am, trying my hand at one. Please bear with me okay? If this goes well, maybe I'll write more.

This particular fanfic uses a song as a base. The song is Honoo no Tobira (Door of Flames) from Gundam SEED Destiny (because I re-entered my Gundam phase).

Summary: -Draco/Hermione- Honesty with the enemy, compassion for the enemy…I had never imagined that such things could be.

Disclaimer: I own do not own anything even remotely related to Harry Potter or any songs I use a motivation for my writing. If I did, my parents wouldn't be trying to force me to get a job right now.

I will open the door of daybreak with my wounded fingers

Because these hands are the ones that will decide tomorrow

What is war?

The dictionary would say that it is any open conflict carried out by armed forces between nations or parts of a nation. It is a struggle between two opposing forces with different goals in mind. Such a definition is quite true; it is the most simplistic way of defining "war".

I do not agree with the dictionary.

A simplistic definition does not mean it is an accurate definition. War is more than a campaign against an opposing force. War is bloody, full of death and decay. When people fight in war, they become killing machines, completely numb to any rational feeling. War is nothing more than a fire that spreads even without a strong wind to fan the flames. It surrounds every person and everything. It burns everything without distinction.

War is true hell. It causes naught but death and destruction. It is an inferno that cannot possibly be doused; it merely rages on, unheeding of what burns to ashes in its wake. The screams of the dying echo on the lonely battlefields, their blooding staining the ground red. War rages on always killing, ever killing. There are no rules in war; you either kill or you are killed. You do what you must in order to survive. That is not the way anyone should have live, nor the way anyone should have to die.

The door opens and he passes through it. This room is small and lightly furnished, but I do not notice it. It is a prison to me. Nevertheless, my senses have not deteriorated; I can hear his soft footfalls coming across the carpet towards me. He kneels beside me and lifts a gentle hand to my face. I no longer flinch at his touch.

"In the window seat again are you, my sweet?" he asks softly. He slowly drags his long, delicate finger across my cheek. "Tears again?" He pops his finger into his mouth, licking the salty droplet off. "No need to cry. You are safe here with me."

I want to ask "How safe?" but I cannot bring myself to voice the words. Tears keep falling silently down my cheeks. The landscape outside is quiescent for now, but surely the flames of war will reach here too, one day. Another point: even if I am safe here, who is to say that my friends remain safe? Who is to say that they will survive? This man cannot guarantee it and nor would he ever. He guarantees my safety only.

I am his prisoner and yet here he is, stroking my hand softly, telling me not to cry. He steals my tears away as if hoping that will make me trust in love once more. It was love that brought me to this place and dragged me down into this pathetic state. "Look," he whispers, "Look at that pretty star."

Obediently, I raise my eyes to look where he indicates. The star is like any other. Stars used to be hopeful to me. They used to give me strength to move on, to keep walking down the path that I chose. I remember when I was a child I used to love staring at the stars, tracing the constellations in the air with my finger. I used to hope I would see a shooting star…but I never did.

I'm taking off on a search for the seeds of hope,

Towards the vanished horizon

"Make a wish, why don't you?" the man whispers to me softly. It is strange…I had never once considered this man to be "soft" in any way. His angular face was always pulled into a sneer and his voice dripped with pride. This man's eyes always seemed cold to me. I turn my empty gaze to him, taking in his appearance for the first time since I was brought here, broken and bleeding. His eyes shine brightly, and I think of hope.

"I will not make a wish," I say in a monotone voice. I surprise even myself; I had not realized how wooden my voice had become. Yet he smiles slightly, and I can't imagine why. "This is a passing calm. This tranquility will not last."

"Is that why you stare out this window endlessly?" he asks sleekly, "Are you acting as a sentinel in the night that sees all but can do nothing? Surely you have a wish you want to make."

Against my will, I nod slowly. His piercing gaze, so like the stars that used to represent hope to me, does not leave my face. He waits patiently for my response and I feel as though a weave of Compulsion has been laid on me. "I wish to return to my home someday, even if only for a short while."

He nods slowly, his thin lips smiling an almost reminiscent smile. "They're fine," he informs me idly. "No blood has smeared their windows and no flames of war have reached them. Ease your worries."

I hadn't even asked about them and yet he knew. How did he know that I was worried about my family? How did he know that I feared for their safety? He doesn't know the first thing about me and yet he knew that. I thought that nothing could surprise me any more yet it appears that I was wrong.

He lays his head on my lap. "Do you hate me?"

That's a distant promise

That familiar voice,

Please let it calm my trembling chest

My dear…

My hand moves of its own accord through his hair. It is not rough and stringy as though it had been dyed too often but silky and smooth. His hair is soft just as he is soft. I turn my sweeping gaze back out the window. The landscape hasn't changed; the night has not begun to fade. But that star suddenly seems to glow much brighter than it did just a few moments ago. It reminds me of the hope I saw in his gray eyes.

"Do you hate me?" he asks again. His voice sounds broken, as though he is lost. "Do you hate me for helping to fan the flames of war? Do you hate me for snatching you from your bright world and dragging your through the door of flames into my dark hell?"

I suddenly notice that my skirt is beginning to get damp. My hand pauses in his hair. He does not shake and he does not sniffle. Nevertheless, he is crying hot tears. I should hate him, I really should. He took away my tomorrow; he took away my world. Oh, how my blood should boil at the sight of him, how I should hiss at the faintest touch. I cannot make myself react like that though. Poor, lost child…

"I do not hate you."

He is surprised by my response, I think, but his tears stop. "A Malfoy never cries," he mutters to himself. He sits up slowly, and gazes straight back into my eyes. "Why don't you hate me? You have every reason to hate me."

"That is true," I reply quietly, "But I do not hate you. Do you hate me?"

He is silent for a long moment. "No."

War causes pain. The flames draw ever nearer and yet here I sit in my window, gazing at my one enemy with some close to love yet not quite that. I have a simple question and just by looking into my eyes, he knows what it is. He sighs and answers me all the same. "I want to know love once more," he admits quietly, "Love from the heart."

He rises and leaves me alone then, closing the door of my room quietly. The sun is beginning to rise although that one star still glows brightly in the sky. For the first time in a very long time, I smile. I don't believe it is a happy smile but perhaps it is a contented smile. Honesty with the enemy, compassion for the enemy…I had never imagined that such things could be.

The star shines brighter.

It opens now,

The skies of destiny.

Many thanks to Risa Sedai for editing this and giving feedback on it. I probably wouldn't have posted this if not for you!