Chapter Four - Pine

Chapter Four - Hermione:

Bloody hell he's already here. Cheeks reddening, Hermione walked toward the Slytherin Prince.

"Malfoy"

"Granger"

"Should we start at the dungeons and work our way back up to the tower?" Hermione suggested. He nodded slightly, and sharply turned toward the staircase. He didn't hurry from her, she noted, but walked quietly beside her.

The unlikely pair spiraled further and further down, and Hermione felt chills run through her. She didn't quite care for the cool air, the reflection of the lake on the dark stone, and the dim lighting. She felt suddenly very self aware - a meek lioness walking into the den of snakes. Pulling her robes a bit tighter around her, she went on.

Twenty minutes later, after sending some wandering first years back to bed, and breaking up a game of Exploding Snap that some sixth years had creatively incorporated Firewhisky into, the two found themselves slowly ascending back up.

"Not too bad for the first time in the dungeons, Granger. I almost didn't see you sneer at anyone".

Rolling her eyes, Hermione felt the side of her mouth slightly turn upward as they silently continued past the kitchens to the Hufflepuff dormitories. And so they drifted, from Hufflepuff to Gryffindor, from Gryffindor to Ravenclaw, and finally from Ravenclaw back to their tower. An uneventful, complete, and perfect patrol.

And as the clock struck the eleventh hour, the two stood inside their shared common space together for the first time. Glancing around the room, looking for anywhere to set her eyes on, Hermione's gaze awkwardly settled on the back wall. Clearing her throat, she started "Well, I think that was good. I guess I'll turn in and see you tomorrow again, yes?"

Nodding again, Draco absentmindedly tucked a loose hair behind his ear, and turned his tired eyes to her. "Okay".

Brilliant. That should be enough conversation for today.

The two turned and meekly retreated into their respective bedrooms. And as Hermione closed her door, she felt the stiffness of her walk and the walls she had drawn up around her, melt. Great Merlin was she tired. Emotionally drained from the stress of what could've been, only to be completely set for a spin when Malfoy was not only not evil, but civil, really. It truly had been good, excellent really, against her previous expectation for how tonight was going to go.

As she brushed her teeth, slipped into her pajamas, and sank into bed, her mind turned to fully run through everything she witnessed within the past two hours. He had grown up. He was not only taller, but calmer - the lines around his face were less severe. His eyes were a warm grey, like molten stone. He smelled of pine and winter woods covered in fresh snow, and she blushed at the thought. He seemed quiet in an introspective manner, he was professional even with the Gryffindors who tried to pelt various Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at him.

He was okay, and she was bewildered. But perhaps this was the luck of the first day after summer. Hermione would be foolish to believe this could last.

Chapter Four - Draco:

Draco was, for lack of a better word, flustered. While his practiced stoicism prevailed around her, and he managed to clear the evening without a single outwardly hiccup, his insides were churning.

Granger. Did she do something to her teeth? Draco felt overwhelmed, completely overstimulated by noticing everything, truly every little second, about their interaction.

About how he now knew exactly where the roses that wafted into his room and lulled him to sleep came from. About how he noted her chest rising and falling at a quickened pace when they walked towards his house's dorms. About how when she shivered, something primal within him wanted to gently squeeze her arm. About how when they were walking back up the many flights the castle forced onto them, how a blush formed over her nose and cheeks as she laboured and became slightly breathless. Why did hearing her short breaths make him uneasy? Why did the baby curls that escaped her braid and framed her face almost beg for someone, for him, to reach out and gently tuck them behind her ears?

Draco shuddered, scolding himself furiously for such ridiculous thoughts. Too much to have her both in the next room and in his mind. Convincing himself that there was a perfectly biological reason for this behavior in response to her once-in-a-blue-moon civility, he immediately threw himself into an absurdly freezing shower.

Bloody lions.

Now as in all humanity who finds their greatest thoughts arise out of lengthy sessions in the shower, like a lightning bolt, or a poorly animated abomination of muggle humor when a lightbulb goes off above some idiot's head, Draco sharply looked at the locked door at the back of his bathroom with dreadful realization. He hoped to Merlin this castle didn't betray him, and that the walls between him and her were at least one Great Hall table long width of nothing but stone.

Horrified at his newfound, and most unwelcome, sudden proximity to the sharpest third of the Golden trio, Draco groaned deeply and let his head fall against the stone wall next to him...repeatedly. Was it too late to honor his father's wishes and just uproot to Durmstrang? Wallowing in a child's expression of self pity, Draco emerged, blue and shivering, from his shower. Muttering a quick drying spell, he summoned his night wear and took a shot of firewhisky that he conveniently confiscated from his rounds.

How has this year only begun?