January 28th, 1998

Lucius pulled a mug out of the cupboard in their small shack, 'cottage' she called it. He was fairly certain she was making a joke, a three room building that housed two beds, a table, and a kitchen, if it could be called that, wasn't-couldn't-be anything but a shack. Particularly because of how cold it was. He was certain that all the warming charms they could cast wouldn't be enough to keep out the chill that night. Already, he'd pulled on his warmest cloak and cast a number of charms on both it and the cabin. The silver lining was that they were far more prepared for the sudden drop in temperature than they would have been weeks ago. They'd closed off the entire shelter, had devoted over a week to piecing together more hide blankets, and stored up a good amount of food in the process.

Conjuring water, he rinsed the mug in the sink, as was his ritual. He refused to think of what kind of crawling critters made their way into them when the cupboards were closed. Hermione seemed to think it was endlessly funny that he was afraid of insects, no matter how often he insisted he merely didn't appreciate finding them in his drink.

He was certain, actually, that she would never cease harassing him about the subject until the day he died. Or the day she died, if they were discovered and things took a turn for the worst. It wasn't a thought he liked to dwell on. That was something he was afraid of, he could easily admit to himself. It was easy to fall into a routine out here, in what Hermione referred to as the 'middle of nowhere'. It was a vulgar, muggle sort of phrase, but he couldn't help think it suited the place perfectly.

He certainly would never admit it to another soul, least of all the girl herself, but he'd grown quite fond of the mudblood. She was stubborn and opinionated, absolutely fierce, but she was also oddly playful. It wasn't something he inspired in many people, but she'd plowed past his scowls and harsh comments...likely for the simple reason that living in constant silence was maddening. The first few time she dared mock him, he'd been livid. He found he didn't mind quite so much anymore, especially since her jokes had lost some of the bitter undercurrent they held at first. He tried not to notice the resignation in them.

His task accomplished, and the mug suitably sanitized, he stepped outside, quickly shutting the door behind him.

She made quite the picture, Lucius could help but think. Huddled under the thick rabbit hide blanket he'd made for her, drinking tea from her transfigured mug by the fire. A silvery otter danced around her, and he could see the tip of her wand just peaking out from under the blanket, allowing as little of the cold, January air in as possible. She really was an impressive witch, to be conjuring a corporeal patronus.

When he stepped forward, she turned her head to smile at him, following his motions as he sat across the fire, across from the mudblood girl, Hermione, he quickly corrected in his mind. Lucius sternly reminded himself, like he did nearly each and everyday, not to let the slur slip. It was in his best interest not to, at best it would result in finding himself listening to a barrage of monologues on the subject, and he wasn't entirely certain he wanted to contemplate the worst case scenario.

"Tea?" she asked, to which he nodded. "Catch!" she said, more muggle nonsense, tossing the bag to him in a surprisingly well aimed throw. He shivered, pulling his cloak closer to his body. He could see her hesitating over something.

"You're practically screaming your conflicting emotions, just say what is on your mind." he said, in his same slow drawl that she'd gotten used to over the past little while, drawing a smile to her lips.

"I was thinking of telling you-and before you scoff at me, remember you asked-that you should come sit under the blanket with me. It's much warmer."

Lucius blinked, and only years of hiding his emotions kept his surprise in check. She continued to look at him somewhat expectantly, and the girl seemed almost disappointed when he didn't move to sit next to her. If ever there was a mystery, that was one. He pondered her words further, not only sit next to her, but sit under the blanket with her. It was such an odd notion, he couldn't make head nor tail of it. Before he could respond, he realized he'd held his silence half a moment too long.

"Fine, stay on your side of the fire and freeze, if you're that worried that my muggle blood will contaminate you in such close proximity." her voice was bitter, dripping in disdain and sarcasm, and he wondered what on earth had aroused the onslaught he was receiving. The truce he'd managed to instigate on Christmas day seemed to have held this long. "I really think I forgot who I was dealing with for a while, Lucius almost didn't come across as an unapologetic bigot who hates me for no reason at all."

"Are you quite finished, Hermione?" Lucius asked, his own voice taking on a colder tone than she'd heard over the past few weeks. It threw her, although she supposed her own angry rant was what produced it. Her patronus dimmed, though it continued to glide through the air surrounding the fire.

Lucius wanted to vilify her for her comments, push as hard as he could and see if she would push back, but the logical part of him reminded him that he was stranded 'in the middle of nowhere' with only this girl for company. And push back, she would, there was no doubt. Things were far more pleasant when they weren't at each other's throats, and already, he saw her eyes narrowing in preparation for a fight, and tilt her head like she did when she was ready to defend her opinion until her throat was sore and her voice was hoarse.

"I was contemplating how best to transfigure the bench, if you absolutely must know. You must realize that it's hardly your best work" he sneered while standing, placing more weight on his wooden cane then he felt was entirely appropriate at his age. He tried not to contemplate it too closely, because that tended to lead somewhere that resembled regret, which, of course, was completely unacceptable. He tried not to contemplate the fact that he'd just lied to spare a mudblood's feelings, because that might even be worse. Keeping his face impassive, he walked across to her to make his point, pulling her up, and wrapping the blanket around her.

She looked rather comical, surrounded in the overlarge blanket, her hand barely sticking out holding her mug. He took the cup of hot tea from her, placing it next to his on the ground, and pushed her hand under the blanket. Transfiguring the bench was not a difficult task, and after a few moments, it looked more or less as he'd envisioned it.

Only after she tried to spread out the blanket did it become apparent how small it was. They each took a turn shifting uncomfortably, and he moved closer to her, hardly happier with the idea than the girl herself. While Hermione was beating herself over the suggestion, he was still mindful that to move now would likely spark up the argument again. By any stretch of the imagination, it wasn't something he wanted to rehash. He felt her move into his side, leaning against him, and he tried to ignore everything but the fact that she'd been right, it was much warmer under the blanket with her.

She cast her patronus again, and he watched the silvery otter float about them. He jumped when it brushed past his shoulder, causing Hermione to laugh once again. She was relieved to have something to say.

"Scared of bugs, scared of otters...my, my, Lucius. Quite the fearsome figure you are." she teased.

Lucius just shook his head, deciding that anything he said would be turned around against him. Instead, he opted to pull out his wand and cast his own patronus, there was something comforting about them. Mesmerizing even. A silver falcon joined Hermione's otter, flying high before swooping down to them once more.

Hermione closed her eyes for a moment. The Order had been very adamant at one time that Death Eaters could not produce corporeal patronuses. It was published in books on the first war and everything. The notion always seemed absurd to her...dehumanizing. Devastating, even, if it were true. Everyone needed a happy memory, even those whose lives were corrupted with hate. The first time they performed magic, a particularly good birthday, arriving at Hogwarts, their first love, the day they were married, the birth of a child. She smiled, relieved they'd been wrong.

"Trust your patronus to be a predator," she said.

He raised an eyebrow at her, "Otters are such friendly creatures. They're often considered harmless as a result...I'm sure though," he said, "that is hasn't escaped your notice that they are, also, quite capable predators."

He watched her smile grow, before faltering for a moment as she turned her head, taking another sip from her mug. "What was actually going through your mind when I asked you to sit with me..." she asked.

She moved, and he was acutely aware, once more, of her weight against his side. She'd shifted to lean more of herself onto him, primarily to have enough length of blanket on her other side to completely block out the cold. In another situation, in another life, the behaviour might come across as scandalously forward. On their wooden bench, buried under the fur blanket, it was about drawing and providing comfort in an awful situation.

He surprised both of them when he moved his arm around her waist, nudging her slightly so that her sharp shoulder no longer dug into him quite as painfully. It was strange, to let this girl, so wholly unconnected to him, cuddle, for lack of a better term, against him.

It was strange and new, but he was surprised that it didn't follow that it was bad. However poorly conceived an idea, he decided to try yet another new idea. The world was hardly about to halt if he did, and the severest consequence that might come of it was her, admittedly sharp, elbow digging into his ribs.

"Being asked to sit with you, share a blanket with you, is an oddly intimate notion. It just isn't done. Not with family, nor with anyone else." he said, quite simply.

It was Hermione's turn to raise an eyebrow. It was such a strange thing to say, particularly considering it was strange for him to say anything personal at all.

"And you find it acceptable with a mudblood?" she asked, he went to protest, but she shook her head, "I'm not going to attack you for it today, I'm genuinely curious. You've fought against muggle-borns being included in the wizarding world longer than I've been alive. I'm not stupid, Lucius. I'm well aware of what you think of me, even if I find it appalling."

She felt his hand tighten on her waist for a moment, before he relaxed again and let out a sigh.

"I haven't let it slip in well over a month, for two reasons." he said, and she made a small, slightly angry, humming noise, encouraging him to continue. "Because I am genuinely afraid of what you might do to me if I do, and if that isn't an acknowledgment of my respect for you as a witch nothing could be."

"What's the second?" she asked, still sounding less than pleased with him, although she hadn't physically moved away, which he considered a win of sorts.

"Because it would hurt you, and I have no intention of doing so."

He felt her head whip up quickly, and she huffed out a snort, "Really?" she asked, the sarcasm in her voice reminding him once again of just how young this girl was.

"You have to know it, on some level, or else I assume I would still be sitting across from you. Perhaps, even, you would have already moved on to a different location, alone."

Hermione hummed in agreement, burying herself further into his warmth, using it as a shield against the biting January air. She could psychoanalyze Lucius's, and her own, behaviour later. For now she just wanted to enjoy one of the few moments of something akin to genuine companionship she'd experienced since being separated from Harry.