A/N: Hey, y'all! This was written for Hogwarts. Have some angsty Draco. :3

Religious Education Task 12: Write about a night that seems endless.

Word Count: 905

Enjoy!

Draco tossed and turned in bed, but no position lulled him to sleep. There were too many thoughts racing through his mind—too many memories. And the silence. The silence was suffocating.

He remembered when this dorm had been filled with laughter, when it was a haven safe from the expectations that came from being the heir to a fortune. As much as he'd loved being a Malfoy, the pressures of always performing the best threatened to crush him. He remembered the rush of panic when an essay would be returned to him, half-certain that this would be the one that incited a lecture from his father. He remembered the stern letters after every Quidditch match he lost, the reminders to get higher marks than the less worthy—Granger, Draco knew his father meant—everything that served to remind him that there were expectations to uphold. Failure meant humiliation.

But not in this dorm. Here, all that stress took a backseat. He could simply exist with the other boys in his dorm: Theodore, Blaise, Vincent, and Gregory. They'd laughed together, cried together—everything together.

But the Notts had hidden away at the start of the war, carefully neutral; Draco hadn't heard from Theo since. The Blaise and his mother had fled the country, and perhaps they weren't even aware that the war was over. Gregory was awaiting trial for casting curses Draco had never had the courage to cast, his father already sentenced to Azkaban. And Vincent... Vincent was gone.

And what was Draco doing? Harry Potter had stood up for him, insisted that there hadn't been much intent behind his actions, other than keeping his family safe. And while he was right, Draco didn't feel any less guilty for his crimes—somehow, though, that had softened the Wizengamot's sentence. Work on the reconstruction of Hogwarts. House arrest on the days he wasn't working. Constant supervision by an Auror for years, check-ins later if he was on his best behavior. But he'd escaped Azkaban.

He assumed that was supposed to be a mercy, but he sometimes thought that he'd rather be locked away from the stares and whispers that always followed him.

Draco sat up in bed and dropped his head into his hands. Sleep wouldn't come to him tonight. He breathed in deeply, the cold air burning his lungs. Goosebumps erupted over his flesh, but he didn't slide back beneath the warm blankets. In a way, the cold was a distraction that he desperately needed.

He glanced at the clock, lit by the torches on the wall that never went out but dimmed at night; they were a necessity in the dungeons. Two o'clock in the morning. His lips thinned.

Draco took his wand and lit it with a quick lumos, then grabbed a book. He might as well do something with his time, he thought bitterly. Anything to keep his guilt at bay.

When he'd barely read three pages an hour later, he gave up. His skin was crawling with the urge to move, to escape, so he slid out of bed and grabbed a robe and slippers. It wasn't difficult to slip out of the common room, and once he was in the corridors, he could breathe easier. Even partially demolished, these halls were more familiar than the loneliness of his dorm. Draco walked for hours, waiting for the sun to rise so he could begin his day, but the moon stayed stubbornly put. Eventually, Draco began to feel... he wasn't sure. Small. Alone. Stuck.

So, even though its crumbling frame wasn't very safe, Draco climbed to the top of the Astronomy Tower; it was the closest he could get to the sky.

He stared up at the stars, so far, so distant. So cold. He felt a bitter kinship towards them.

"Couldn't sleep?"

The voice startled him, and Draco half-turned to see who had snuck up on him. His grey eyes narrowed when he realized who it was. Potter, here to save the day—predictable as clockwork. He turned his back on the wizarding world's favorite hero. "What do you want?"

Annoyance colored Potter's tone. "I only asked a question."

"It was a stupid question."

Draco thought Potter would respond angrily, or else storm off—but a sigh followed the beat of silence. "Yeah, it was."

That knocked any retort out of Draco's lungs, and after a second of debating what to do, he just turned back to the sky. If Potter wanted something, he could bloody well ask for it.

He felt more than heard Potter move to stand beside him, matching Draco's pose by leaning against the balcony. "For what it's worth," Potter muttered, "I can't sleep, either."

The Slytherin closed his eyes. He didn't want to hear about the nightmares he was sure the other man suffered, or about the misplaced guilt Potter might be feeling. He just wanted to be alone, in the quiet, and figure out who he was supposed to be now that the world had been ripped out from under his feet.

He shivered in the cold night air, barely registering when Potter cast a heating charm over them both. He didn't protest.

They stood side-by-side staring out at the horizon for what felt simultaneously like eons and seconds, until the sky began to lighten to purples, pinks, and oranges.

Just two men watching the sunrise, wondering what they were supposed to do next.