Complicated

*authors note* yes, I know these chapters are impeccably short. I promise there'll be a lot of them, though, to make up for it.

*~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~*

During dinner that night, Hermione snuck outside to the gardens. She often came there to think or just be alone, and dinner was the best time to do so. No one, especially not Harry and Ron, wanted to leave their food, therefore granting her complete solace.

Finding her favourite bench, surrounded and partially hidden by the red rose bushed, Hermione sat down and pulled her cloak tightly around her. The winter air was chilly and soft snow lightly dusted the grounds. One of the reasons Hermione loved the roses to much was that they were charmed to stay in bloom all year long. Their eternal beauty enchanted her and was enough to bring warmth to her heart even during the most dismal gray winter days. The roses never betrayed her.

Footsteps tore Hermione's gaze from the moon to the entrance of the little rosebush hideaway she was sitting in. She was shocked to see Draco Malfoy's tell, pale form appear before her. His black cloak only served to magnify the paleness of his porcelain skin and silvery blonde hair. His gray eyes glittered in the moonlight like jewels, and when he saw her his lips twitched into their usual smirk.

"Hello, Granger," he lazily drawled.

"Hello," she softly replied.

Draco sat beside her. Hermione, still a bit shocked at seeing him there, and still keeping in mind that they were enemies, asked in a rather rude tone, "What are you doing here, Malfoy?"

He looked at her, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "You're not the only one who's allowed to escape to the gardens during dinner, Granger." He accented the syllables of her last name in a way that made Hermione shudder.

She looked at him, surprised. Hermione had expected him to blow up at her words. "What reason do you have for coming out here?" she asked once she had found her voice.

"To think. Why do you come out here?"

"Well, to think, but, well, oh!" Hermione seemed flustered. "Are we actually having a conversation?"

Draco looked surprised. After a moment, he smiled (just a bit) and nodded. "Yeah."

"Oh," Hermione replied. Her eyes went back to the sky and without warning the image of Draco from earlier popped into her head. Hermione felt herself blush as she thought of his disheveled hair and flashing gray eyes. She scooted away from him.

"Well, I'd better get going. They'll miss me in the common room."

She stood up and started to leave, but tripped on her cloak. With a less-than-graceful yelp and a lot of flailing about, Hermione fell backwards into a rose bush, wincing with pain as the thorns pierced her skin through her robes. Moaning, she tried to sit up, but found she was stuck.

A hand appeared in front of her face, pale white with long, thin fingers. It belonged to Draco, who was staring down at her, his eyes mocking, but softer than usual.

"If that's considered graceful, Neville Longbottom just might have a chance."

Hermione glared, but took his hand anyway. It was smooth and soft, yet strong. He helped her up and she winced with pain at the thorns stuck in her. Draco gently pulled the ones in back out, then sat her down on the bench. He continued pulling thorns from her robes, and in no time Hermione was de-thorned.

The bush, however, looked horrible. There was a large part smushed in where Hermione had fallen. Branches were bent and broken and petals littered the ground. Draco pulled out his wand, muttered a spell, and viola! The bush was back to normal and as beautiful as ever.

Hermione stared in amazement. "Who would have thought Draco Malfoy had the ability to do good?" she said, smiling shyly at him.

Draco laughed. A real laugh. "Yeah, but don't get used to it."

Reaching down, he plucked a rose from the newly restored rosebush. He held it in his hands and sighed softly, almost innocently. Looking at him, Hermione realized something she had never even dared to think before: Draco Malfoy was human. Without really thinking about it, Hermione voiced her thoughts.

"You're so different when you're not trying to impress people, Malfoy," she noticed softly. "It's almost like you're nice, but you're not. You're Draco Malfoy, my enemy, a snobby, conceited, rich brat. Still, when you laughed back there and the way you fixed that rosebush, it was almost as if you were someone else. Someone good."

Draco was silent, staring at the flower in his hands, trailing his fingers from the thorny stem to the soft, delicate petals, whose blood red colour contrasted sharply with the white of his skin. Hermione found herself wishing desperately she could take back what she had just said. Then, he spoke.

"Every rose has its thorns, Hermione." He turned to look at her. Hermione realized this was the first time he had ever said her first name, or if it wasn't, it was the first time he'd ever said it without a single trace of hatred or arrogance in his voice.

"But," he continued, his gray jewel eyes staring deeply into hers with a raw sincerity and honesty that made her want to cry, "even with those thorns, it's still beautiful."

He handed her the rose and left. Hermione stared after him, his words echoing in her mind. Warm tears slid down her face as she absently twirled the flower around in her fingers. It was a long time before she entered the Gryffindor common room, the rose tucked safely in her robes.