Hermione lay in the library, on a plush window seat that had a delicious sunbeam (so rare for Hogwarts) sprawled over it. It was a pity that Crookshanks wasn't here to commandeer her rump, as the plumpest seat in the house. Hermione giggled at the thought, turning another page in her book on Recondite Charms.

Who would want to know the best way to tailor a vest to a horse? Some of these were truly, truly odd.* Still one never knew...

Hermione's mind began to wander, and, these days, there was really only one thing that her mind wandered toward. With a sigh, Hermione stared out the window, wondering about that boy - how had she not even gotten his name? - and what he was doing tonight. Hopefully he was safe, and dry, and warm someplace - although... it was somehow difficult to even picture him safe. She could, however, picture him standing in the wind, windblown and carefree. Somehow, somehow that worked better... Hermione felt her face begin to flush as she pictured him turning towards her, his intense blue eyes staring into hers.

Draco Malfoy stood on the very edge of the Astronomy Tower, his glare having sent two third years running downstairs. He didn't even know why they'd bothered to come up here - it wasn't as if they were going to neck, or anything. He leaned back against the railing, his eyes trailing upwards, above the parapets, into the sky. The wind ruffled his hair, and he imagined it was her, soft hands tugging insistently, pulling his hair this way and that. The wind's embrace was chill, and cool, but it somehow reminded Draco of her. Slowly, his mouth turned upward into a small, sad smile. He turned around, looking out past the black waters into the darkling wood. Here, he was somewhere. Hogwarts was a fortification, a solid place where people belonged. Where was she? Out, windtossed like a lick of thistledown, somewhere in those places where people didn't belong. London was a fair place, and all, but it didn't speak of home.

Harry Potter looked at his map, again. It said, quite clearly, that Draco Malfoy was atop the Astronomy Tower. Not that his location was all that critical. No, Draco Malfoy was alone up there, and Harry Potter intended to take advantage of that. He just didn't understand why the albino bastard was holding his cards to his chest. It didn't make sense. Malfoy'd always been so eager to use any ammunition on him in the past.

Still, Harry thought, swallowing his frustration, I'm not actually looking for a fight. Just answers.

And so, here Harry sat, in an alcove near the bottom of the tower, waiting for Draco Malfoy to descend. He wanted to pace, to stare at his map, to do anything - but he dared not move. Quiet, small, hidden, - lurking and ready to strike.

Draco Malfoy descended from the tower, the look on his face weary, and his entire pointy face long at the mouth. He didn't want to descend into the snake pit - he'd rather just sleep atop the tower, nevermind that there'd be class in a few hours. Going home meant being responsible, meant watching his words, meant everything he simultaneously wanted to throw away, and gather to his arms and never let go.

Lost in thought, Draco Malfoy walked right past the alcove where Harry Potter lay in a crumpled ball, asleep.

*equine vestments were popular during the Middle Ages.

[a/n: Not every plan works, yes? Leave a review!]