Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter (or anything associated with him) in any way, shape or form. No copyright infringement is intended.

When it is dark enough, you can see the stars.
~ Charles A. Beard





He can't sleep at night.

It's insomnia, they say. And as much as he lays in his bed, tossing and turning, nothing seems to let him drift off into the land of nod. So he studies. And he reads. And he takes long strolls around after dark, even when he's not supposed to.

He's a Slytherin, after all. Everything he does isn't what he's supposed to do.

There's something about night that he enjoys. Perhaps it's the stars that light up the sky, or the crisp fresh air that seems to engulf the grounds and turn them into such a serene and relaxed venue. So once he's sure that Filch is nowhere to be seen, and once he's sure he can hear his roommates resonating snores, he silently creeps out of the castle and makes his way down to a clearing behind the castle.

From here he can see the Quidditch Pitch, stretching off far into the distance. And there's always some new scent lingering in the air, be it the sweet smell of honeysuckle from Hagrid's garden or some kind of lingering perfume that the faeries in the Forbidden Forest seem to let off.

He likes the quiet. He likes to sit alone and listen to whatever new sounds the world had to offer him. And then one particular night, he finds himself a companion. An unwilling one at that, but a companion nonetheless. Someone to share the silence with and someone to stare up at the stars with him.

"We shouldn't be out here," she says hesitantly.

"Fine, go inside," he insists. "Nobody's stopping you."

And true to her ever stubborn nature, she grudgingly stays. There's something about the way he gazes longingly up at the stars that makes her realise that he's not out here merely for the thrill of getting caught, or for the rebellious deed that everyone seems to expect him to commit.

"I can see why you like it out here," she murmurs. "I've never realised how beautiful it looked at night."

He smirks knowingly and lays down on the ground, folding his arms behind his head and propping a knee up lazily. Even the simplest of gestures showed his newly found relaxed state. "Of course you didn't, Granger," he comments. "You're always off on one of those wacky adventures. I wouldn't expect you to take in the scenery."

"No need to mock me," she announces. "Especially if you still want my company."

"And who said I did?" he asks, quirking an eyebrow.

She sneers as he props himself up, his hands balancing him off the ground behind him. "You wouldn't have let me stay out here if you didn't want me to do so."

"Clever, Granger," he says, touching his nose with his finger. "And quite daring as well. Something I would've have expected from one such as yourself."

"Daring?" she questions. "How so?"

He refrains from chuckling, watching a confused expression pass over her pale face. It's a cold night, the breeze chilling her and sending shivers down her spine as she sits in her satin pyjamas and nightgown.

"Well, compared to your everyday behavior, you're hardly audacious, now are you?"

"And the time I slapped you in third year wasn't 'audacious' enough?" she appeals, suppressing a small smile.

"Third year was ages ago, Granger," he announces. So she rests her elbow on her knee, her head in her palm as if in contemplation. He admires the stern, yet placid look on her innocent face as she runs his words through her head once more.



"Close your eyes."

He casts her one last curious look, unsure whether he should really listen or not. But she seems passive and unmoved by his words, so after a moment of hesitation, his eyes close and all he can do now is listen to the sound the wind makes as it rustles the grass and beats against the trees in the Forbidden Forest.

And suddenly, he feels her hand on his. It rests for a moment, feeling the cool touch his skin has to offer, before tracing up his arm slowly, unwittingly tickling him through his cotton shirt.



Her fingers travel to his chin, before dancing on his lips for a moment. Her considers opening his eyes, to see whether she'd dare continue if she knew he were watching. But something makes him stay as he is, completely enraptured by her soft touch as it caresses his cheek and continues to play on his soft, pink lips.

And then it's no longer her fingers. And he slowly drifts to the ground once more, his arms snaking around her waist, pulling her down with him as he feels her moist lips caress his own, making his pulse race and his head begin to pound as second after second passes by as they lay in their blind embrace. And he opens his mouth to her, letting her taste him with a fiery passion as their kiss deepens and her arms wrap around the back of his neck.

But all good things must come to an end, and ever so slowly, she pulls away; breathing erratically as she lays her head on his shoulder. He dares not open his eyes, and her breath tickles his ear as she whispers softly, "Audacious enough for you, Malfoy?"

Determination. Power. Fury. Recklessness. Need.

It had all been encased in one singular moment. And as his eyelids opened, and he caught a glimpse of her bushy head resting serenely by his side; the world turns to white, to black, and finally, to color. And he glances around himself, bewildered, as he soaks in the green and silver hangings surroundings his four poster bed.

"Just a dream," he breathes.

He'd finally slept. And what's more is that he wished he hadn't woken up.