He's always there. At night, when I go up there to think, he's there. Every time. And it's nice, because at night, when no-one else is there and it's silent, we don't have to hate each other. We don't have to be the Gryffindor and the Slytherin, the Lion and the Snake, the Mudblood and the Pureblood, the Nerd and the Bigot, Granger and Malfoy. We can just be Draco and Hermione.

He looks up as I approach, and smiles at me. It's not his arrogant smirk, his sarcastic smile, or his cold, emotionless smile. It's warm, comforting and genuine.

'I didn't think you'd come today. That was some punch you threw. I'm surprised it didn't knock a tooth out. How did you learn to punch like that?'

'I did self-defence classes for a while in primary school. It was quite fun actually. I hope it didn't hurt too much. But why are you even friends with those buffoons? They're more like gorillas then humans. And Nott's an idiot, all talk.'

'If I could cut all ties with them, I would. But you know, it's all stupid family ties and Pureblood tradition. Real friendship doesn't count with them. They just need someone on their side. I don't have a choice in who I talk to. That's all chosen by father.'

'I don't get your family sometimes.'

'I don't expect you too.'

We fall into an easy silence for a while, my head coming down to rest on his shoulder. It's strangely poetic, if I analyse it too much. Two enemies, seemingly polar opposites, sitting together looking up at the stars.

We stay there for about 10 minutes, communicating without words. Because we didn't need language to understand each other.

'You know the Hogsmeade weekend coming up? You'll be alone won't you?' He says suddenly, his sharp grey eyes meeting mine.

'Yeah, Harry can't go because of his form, and Ron wants to stay and keep him company.' I don't really know he's going with this. We can't be seen being civil to each other, he knows that

'The area around the shrieking shack will be empty. No-one ever goes in winter, not this close to Christmas. Everyone's shopping or drinking butterbeer. Do you want to go with me, have a picnic.'

'Ok then. If you want to?'

'Hermione, if I didn't want to I probably wouldn't have suggested it.'

'Fair point. Ok then.'

I snuggle back into his lap, and lie there for a bit, just finding patterns in the stars. After another hour, we bid each other goodnight, and slip back into our respective dormitories.

And as I lie on my Four-Poster, all thoughts are pushed aside, and images of high cheekbones, pale skin and white-blond hair fill my head.