I watch as the cigarette smoke rolls up into the air creating intricate patterns in the cold air, and I stare out across the grounds. I can feel the coldness of the bench seep through into my trousers but I really don't care.

I'm spending my free sitting here smoking instead of doing what I probably should be doing, which is studying.

The Quidditch pitch is empty and silent and I enjoy the biting cold breeze that rushes past my face. The letter is clenched in my right hand while I take another drag of the fag that is in my left before blowing out the smoke.

I don't know how mum got them to let her write a letter and to be honest I don't care. It says that she is alright and that she misses me. I'm pretty certain that this is complete bollocks, how can anyone be alright in a heavily guarded prison cell in Azkaban. I feel as a lone tear falls down my face at the thought of mum being surrounded by Dementors.

Many go mad in that place, and I'd been warned to not be surprised if it happens. I hated that. The way people said that to me as if I shouldn't give a shit about my mum because she made a bad decision in her life.

She's still my mum and I will love her no matter what, so they can all go fuck themselves if they think that that's going to change.

I watch as the tear falls from my face to the ground and I wouldn't be surprised if it froze the minute that it touched the icy floor. I let my head fall forwards and I stare at the floor, squeezing the letter tighter.

"Hasn't anyone ever told you that smoking's bad for you?" a voice asks and I feel my heart stutter. It's not difficult to recognise the voice, I'm certain I would know it anywhere. I push my head back up and straighten my shoulders before taking another drag.

"You know I'm pretty sure I have heard that somewhere," I drawl back at her without turning around, feeling more than seeing as she sits next to me. I breathe out the smoke and throw the fag to the floor before stomping on it with my foot.

I'm scared to look at her in case she vanishes and it was all my imagination, so I stare straight ahead onto the pitch, founding a spot on the stand opposite and staring at it.

"I haven't seen you fly in ages," she tells me drawing out the sounds in ages and I shudder at the sound of it.

"Haven't had the time," I reply to her and I feel as she scoffs. I take a deep breath before turning to look her in the eyes.

"What?" I ask her and she looks my dead in the eye.

"Don't lie to me," she replies not breaking eye contact and I'm glad. I won't be able to stop looking at her now that I've started.

She's grown up so much. Her once too bushy hair has now changed to beautiful bouncing curls and her eyes show the wisdom of a very mature young woman. I'm sitting close enough to her that I could count the freckles on her face.

"I wasn't," I reply and it's the truth "I haven't had the time. Anyways I doubt I'd get the same amount of pleasure from it as I had before,"

"Why?" she asks and a crease forms between her eyebrows.

"I don't know. It's a bit cold for it," I answer and I rub my hands together wishing I had bought my cloak with me.

"Here," she says and shoves her own cloak towards me, leaving her sitting in a too big jumper.

"What? No!" I answer trying to push it back towards her, I'm not going to let my dignity fall that much.

"Fine, I'll just leave it on the floor then. I'm not wearing it. I don't need it," She replies lifting her chin in the air and I sigh at her.

So bloody stubborn.

"You ever let anyone know about this and I'll have to kill you," I mutter at her as I pull the cloak around me and her lips twitch upwards.

I watch her for a few minutes, her curls blow in the breeze and she tilts her face to the sky, unafraid of the biting wind.

"What are you doing here Granger?" I ask her turning to stare back out across the grounds.

I feel as she shifts beside me, and I feel her eyes on my face.

"I've been assigned," she answers

"To what?"

"Helping you,"

"I don't need your help," I tell her sharply, wincing at the sound of my voice but she seems not to have noticed.

"Maybe you don't. But that doesn't mean that I'm not going to try. Do you think I can't see Malfoy? You're not you anymore. Not the snarky, arrogant bastard I knew. And yeah that probably should be a good thing, but it's not 'cause but you're not you. I want to help," she says calmly staring back out at the grounds.

"I'm not some project that you can just fix up you know," I tell her and she laughs softly.

"I know," she replies before standing up.

I tilt my face up to look at her and hand her her cloak back.

"Thanks," she says and I nod in return.

She slowly makes her way back down to the castle and I feel as an unwanted grin spreads across my face.

Hermione wants to help, and to help means she'll have to spend time with me, and to spend time with me means she'll be near me, and if she's near me then everything is beautiful.