Disclaimer: Everyone knows I'm not J.K. Rowling, so there's really no need to put these on anymore, is there?

Hermione woke up again only a few hours later, her mind apparently thinking that either this was some sort of comeuppance for an evil deed she didn't know she'd committed or it just wanted to be malevolently vindictive to her. She looked over to Lavender and Parvati, who were soundly sleeping, and Hermione briefly envied them, despite their obsessions with fashion and men.

As she became more conscious, she noticed an orange-pink glow coming out of the window through her curtains. It was sunrise. She sighed in dismay and looked over to her alarm clock (it was the normal Muggle one she used at home, except for she'd bewitched it to not run on batteries so she could make use of it at school). It was now her worst enemy, reading 5:27 A.M. in bright green numbers. She rubbed her hands over her face, trying to get rid of the irritating state between awake and asleep; the one where you can't fall into a slumber again, but you're not fully functional yet.

She let out a groan at this, opening her eyes again. "So not fair," she said quietly to herself. "What exactly did I do to deserve this? Insomnia and I do not go well together."

Resignedly, she got up, inadvertently making as little noise as possible, though by the way Parvati, Lavender, and the other girls were sleeping, an explosion wouldn't rouse them. She opened her trunk and picked out a random sweatshirt that Harry had gotten her as a Christmas gift a few years ago, slipping it over her tank top. She didn't bother to change her pajama bottoms, both because they were more comfortable than a skirt or uniform pants, and because she sincerely doubted anyone would be up at this ungodly hour.

She unemotionally took a brush to her hair for a few moments, to simply get it somewhat tamed, although she didn't put much thought into it. This was way too early to be thinking clearly. Shuffling down the stairs and over to the portrait, she pushed it open, being careful (though she wasn't really sure why) to not slam it behind her.

"Oi! What you out of bed for anyhow?" the Fat Lady mumbled, slurring her words. She was obviously still half-asleep.

"Sorry," Hermione replied crossly. Now, she felt, wasn't the necessary time for pleasantries.

Successful despite the Fat Lady's oppositions, Hermione walked trancelike down the seventh floor stairs, not quite sure where she was going. She just needed to walk. Before she knew it, she was down the Grand Staircase, how that happened she wasn't sure, but she nearly tripped going down the substantially higher steps. This clumsiness and trying to assure she wouldn't completely fall flat on her face caused her to not see someone coming towards her. He, apparently, was also not paying attention as he ran right into her.

This time she did, painfully, fall down, realizing that the cold marble was not nearly as comfortable as she'd hoped. Wincing and straightening her sweatshirt, she looked up at her indirect attacker, and scowled. He had, by instinct she assumed, reached a hand down as if to help her up, but focusing clearer on her, he withdrew it for a moment.

"Granger?" Malfoy asked, his words easily as slurred as the Fat Lady's.

"Obviously," she said acidly.

He blinked, then appeared to be doing some quick thinking, before, miraculously, extending his hand again. She grimaced at it, as if it were some venomous snake waiting to poison her. After a few seconds and deciding he probably wasn't going to do anything too malicious at the moment, she hesitantly accepted it, feeling herself being pulled up quickly by him.

Slightly startled by the act of unexpected chivalry, she retreated a few steps, his frame fully in view. He looked at the floor and sighed heavily. She followed what he was staring at and saw a dark pool of liquid floating across the floor, flowing down the cracks in the tile like a stony waterslide. For the first time, she noticed the now empty mug in his pale hands, and saw it was quite empty.

"Nice going," she smirked, and then it faltered at his lack of response. This definitely was not like him. At his increasingly disturbed face and the uneasiness he was causing her, she rolled her eyes and pointed her wand at the puddle of what she presumed was tea. "Tergeo." The tea flew up into her wand, disappearing instantly, floor as clean as before. She then pointed to his cup, which was still empty. "Capulumenti."

Immediately, the same liquid poured from the tip of her wand, filling up the glass in his hand to its former steamy state. Strangely satisfied with herself despite her helping the enemy, she stowed her wand and looked at him expectantly. He shrugged indeterminably, but oddly enough it didn't annoy her that much. She attributed it to the early hour.

Finally, he managed to gain his voice back, but was concentrating solely on the liquid that had recently been amended. "Thanks," he said subtly. She raised her eyebrows but didn't say anything, in hope that whatever this absence of animosity was would stay put.

"Yeah…whatever," she said indifferently, rubbing her arms through the sweatshirt to ward off even more impending cold. The silence that ensued was unnerving, she realized with a start. She shifted her weight to her other side and gazed at him. "So…er…what are you doing here exactly?"

Malfoy simply stared at her, searching her eyes for something she couldn't decide at the moment. "I could ask you the same question," he said finally.

"Could or are?" Hermione countered, a barely noticeable smile playing at her lips. He glared half-heartedly at her, and she sighed in reluctant surrender. "I couldn't sleep. I've been having some…strange…dreams lately and they've just not let me get rest, so I came down here this morning. Thought I'd be alone, but that didn't work out so well as you can so obviously first-handedly attest to. But what about you? The great Malfoy out of bed? I would have thought you'd need your beauty sleep."

"What are you planning, Granger?" he asked with distrust and disbelief.

She scoffed derisively. Who did he think he was? Yeah, he's Malfoy, but when have I been the one to 'plan' something? Or at least apart from the base logic? She thought, scowling. "You condescending little ingrate," Hermione hissed, even her low voice echoing off the ancient stone walls. "Aside from a few reciprocated spells, have I done anything harmful to you? Anything that has been severely detrimental to your health? For goodness sake, I just helped you. You'd think you'd be more grateful!"

His face was impassive throughout her whole quiet tirade, but then it shadowed like it always did and she couldn't tell for the life of her what he was thinking. Not that she necessarily wanted to, of course. However, the fact that he was hesitating and looked even pensive, told her that her words had perhaps reached him. If not influenced him. It was a start.

"Yeah? And what about your little friends? Potter and the Weasel are—"

She had her wand out in half a second and pointed it at his pale throat in anger. She saw his silvery eyes flicker down to it warily, and she relished in the fact she got the desired effect. "Don't insult them!" Hermione said fiercely. "Don't you dare!"

"And what would you do to stop me?" he smirked, the action familiar, although there was something about it that was foreign. Perhaps it was the early hour and his fatigue, or perhaps it was something else. Hermione was preoccupied at the moment, though, and she didn't give it much thought.

"You want to see?" she countered snidely. "Because I'll show you. I'd be more than happy to, Malfoy."

"Not really, no," Malfoy said seriously, and her wand faltered a bit at his abrupt change in…sincerity? Hermione shook herself at that thought. Since when was Malfoy sincere?

"What is wrong with you? You're acting…strange," Hermione observed skeptically.

She watched his expression, which shone nothing but stoicism, not a trace of the sneering ass she had always seen. What was this? Far as she could tell, this might as well have been some sort of weird, disturbing dream. A day when she and Malfoy would be talking fairly civilly was a day Hermione never thought she'd see. And yet here they were, conversing like two people, not quite friends, but not the archenemies they'd been for so long. This definitely made her book in terms of severe oddity.

"You noticed?" he asked, with a trace of a smile. It was then she noticed it was a smile; not a smirk, but an actual smile. She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen that. She frowned at him, and he sighed. "Look, Granger, I'm too bloody tired to give out arguments right now. Yeah, be surprised all you want, I don't care. Either I'm going back to bed and staring at the very interesting ceiling or I'm going to continue what I was doing and wander. So if there's something more that you want to say, then say it."

She pursed her lips. Was there something she wanted to say? She couldn't think of anything at the moment, and yet she felt as though there was something she needed to tell him. The maddening part was she had no idea what it was. She looked up, to find that he was already to the base of the stairs, ready to go around them and down the ones to the dungeons to his dormitories, despite his claim he wouldn't be able to sleep.

Whether on impulse or actual substantiation, Hermione's reverie fissured then broke. "Wait," she said quietly. She wasn't sure at first if he'd heard her, but he stopped, foot ready to step around the banister.

"What?" Malfoy asked tiredly, the blatant fatigue making his usually pristine features lined and weary.

"I just—" She stopped, taking a breath and quickly changed tact. She couldn't completely lose her previous demeanor towards him. "I just don't think this whole polite-ish conversation should be exhibited too rashly to everyone. For…reputation purposes, I guess. I mean, you wouldn't want yours tarnished, would you?"

He actually opened his mouth to retort, but, with the same surprise as before, he closed it, a look of thought crossing his face. Hermione subconsciously held her breath. "I concur…but I'd like the record to show that I did my part here," he said, voice once again solid. "While I don't particularly give a rat's ass about what you talk about with Potter and Weasley, for your sake I wouldn't go blabbering about how I supposedly accosted you with spiteful extrapolations, as I've done nothing of the sort so far. Understand?"

Hermione considered this, not so much because of Malfoy's terms, but because he'd actually agreed with her. While the record's out, Hermione thought, let it also be scribed that Draco Malfoy actually went along with my, Hermione Granger, proposition. A day I'll never let him live down if I have my say.

"Yeah," she said simply. "After all, it was my idea, wasn't it?"

He shrugged in assent and held out his hand. She looked down at it, realizing this was yet another historic event where he'd shown he actually had a semblance of a soul. In the form of a handshake, it was true, but for him it was practically his exalting her as his superior. She'd take what she could get. She met his hand with a firm but hesitant association, unable to help feeling it was more some sort of alliance between two war-ridden countries, unrest slightly put at ease with the simple act of a connecting of hands.

When his joined with hers, however, she wasn't expecting of something akin to electricity to run through her form, their skin the same porcelain color, now seemingly blue in the twilit sky. She stared up at him, not bothering to do anything about the look of amazement she imagined she had; what was this? His eyes, their color miraculously changed from their usual condescending gray to a hue of a storm-dusted ocean. His face held none of her surprise, but he did look a little taken aback at either her reaction or the fact that they had actually willingly touched each other.

They dropped hands at the same moment, Hermione quickly bringing hers up to her chest as if it were going to get infected by some communicable disease he was carrying if she had it too close to him. His was nonchalantly crossed against his other arm over his stomach. Where she predicted he'd smirk happily, he wasn't; on the contrary, he had a faint crease between his pale eyebrows, but at least it wasn't anger or irritation with her.

She cleared her throat awkwardly. "Well, I—er—I'd better go…" she trailed, giving a noncommittal jerk of her head upstairs.

He nodded. "Likewise," he said simply.

She gave him one last nod of acknowledgement before stepping around him, beginning to ascend the staircase. She heard barely noticeable footsteps behind her, telling her he had departed too, but didn't notice a few seconds later when they stopped. It wasn't that that stopped her, but rather the soft voice aerating up to her from the cool marble floor.

"Sleep well."

Her eyes widened and she turned around, her hair swishing around her, looking to where she'd heard it. Strangely enough, however, Malfoy was nowhere to be seen except for a glint of platinum just passing the corner, illuminated by the light outside. She allowed herself a small smile, fully aware of the ridiculously absurdness of the situation and scene that had just unfolded. But, she figured, as long as she was living this weird, twisted dimensional reality, she might as well run with it.

With that, she jogged up the rest of the staircase as well as the next three, before deciding she could leisurely make her way back up and delight in pissing off some of the more petulant portraits with her lighted wand. Finally, after another four sets of stairs, she reached the Fat Lady, who was sound asleep, her dress billowing with an unseen breeze. Hermione sighed, not really knowing what to do. She didn't want to wake the woman again, but she wasn't sure how else to get in.

Carefully, she prodded the picture, and, only getting an incoherent grumble, she coughed. "Fat Lady?" she said, voice almost a whisper. Strictly speaking, she wasn't supposed to be out this late. "Can you please let me in? I promise I won't bother you anymore until classes start again. Really."

The woman opened one eye blearily before glaring at Hermione, obviously recognizing her from before. Unfortunately for the Hogwarts painting, she wasn't exactly supposed to deny entrance to anyone with the password, let alone a dormitory resident. Though it didn't mean that she couldn't be annoyingly stubborn about it, as Hermione could attest to more than once.

"Passw—out with it," she said irritably, starting off with her usual asking for the password then giving it up for a more testy edition.

"Blibbering baubles," Hermione said, having to prevent herself from saying it through gritted teeth. Why couldn't the Fat Lady just let her in already? Hermione didn't understand why the painting couldn't just admit her…she already knew full well who she was. Hermione assumed it had something to do with a power trip and knowing the Lady was the only one who could allow entrance.

"Yeah, yeah, get in. And don't bother me again!" the Fat Lady snapped, Hermione barely getting herself all the way through the hole before the picture slammed itself shut, plunging Hermione into the blackness of the Common Room, the glistening, flickering fire having gone out hours ago.

"Well you don't have to be so goddamn rude about it," Hermione grumbled, rubbing her arms. It really was quite cold in there when there wasn't any glowing heat coming from the hearth.

"And you mustn't go on midnight rendezvouses with unknown hotties," said a voice from the corner.

Hermione reacted with a mix of blanching and rolling her eyes. Anger and mention of cute guys in the same sentence were strictly belonging to the one and only Lavender Brown. "Hey, Lavender," Hermione said weakly.

"Don't you 'hey, Lavender' me, missy!" Lavender admonished, though Hermione was as of yet vastly unable to take anything Lavender said seriously. She just couldn't. "First you're having weird moaning dreams and then you sneak out in the middle of the night without so much as a 'I'm going out for a bit, don't worry about me, I'll be back in a bit'? Hermione Granger, what is going on?"

She'd never exactly been friends with Lavender, which is why, she surmised, she faltered, owing to one thing or another; they were simply too different. Which was partially why Hermione wasn't sure if Lavender was up to anything at the moment or if she was just being worried about her. She'd have preferred Door Two, but she just couldn't be sure anymore. She looked at Lavender's still sleep-immersed face that was etched with faint lines of distress, and sighed. If Hermione herself couldn't for the life of her figure out what'd just happened down there, she sure couldn't tell Lavender. At least not until she deciphered the meanings of it for herself.

"Since when does it matter where I go or when I do something? It's not like I'd purposefully lose House Points or anything, Lavender," Hermione said with an edge of annoyance and irritation. Most of it was real; Lavender didn't necessarily deserve it, but Hermione was tired and confused, and she didn't need an interrogation. "Especially not if I go to meet anyone for something, regardless of the content. Just mind your own business and stay out of mine, will you?"

Lavender ridiculously taken aback at Hermione's reaction, and Hermione somewhat understood. She wasn't exactly someone who retorted viciously except for a person who really deserved it. Lavender didn't quite count. They'd had their differences in the past, but Hermione definitely wouldn't put her in the same category as, say, Pansy Parkinson. Hermione looked again at Lavender's now very hurt face and felt a kind of guilt, but she stood by her intentions. Lavender would just have to deal with it.

"Hermione—" Lavender started desperately. "What—?"

"Excuse me," Hermione said. "I'm going to bed."

With that, she left Lavender standing there in the chilled common room and ascended the girls' dormitory stairs, well aware that Lavender was staring, astounded, after Hermione's retreating body. Hermione gently got into the room and closed the door, trying to make as little noise as possible. She glanced over to Parvati's bed, who was breathing a little too loudly for Hermione to really believe she was asleep. Once a gossip junkie, always a gossip junkie, Hermione figured.

"Go to bed, Parvati," Hermione said wearily. "It's early."

"Sorry," came the Gryffindor's soft voice and then the shuffling of bedspreads.

Hermione sighed in response and went to her own bed, collapsing on top of it and staring at the dark red, golden-stitched coverings, thinking this morning had been way too surreally strange to tell anyone. She had trouble believing it had actually happened. She doubted anyone else would take her word for it, especially Harry and Ron. They'd have a field day if they found out… With another sigh, she closed her eyes, praying for sleep. More importantly, praying for dreams absent of a certain blond-haired Slytherin. Lavender may not have known who Hermione had been with, but she was positive Hermione had met someone, and knowing Lavender and her uncanny ability to wheedle shreds of truth or rumors out of any situation, she'd find out. Fast.

"Oh, what a tangled web I weave…" Hermione muttered dejectedly to herself before finally falling into a restless slumber, her last conscious thought being an image of the man she'd just conversed with. A person whose enemy lines were now becoming disturbingly blurred…

And chapter four is done. Alors, voilà. Please leave reviews if you can, because I'd greatly appreciate it.