Dark of the Moon

A/N: In this fic, the war is already over, all of the Golden Trio have returned for their 7th year, and no, Draco is not Head Boy, surprisingly.

Dark of the Moon

Disclaimer: The clock on the mantelpiece could tick till the end of time, but even then, Harry Potter and its characters still wouldn’t belong to me.

Summary: Hermione skipped lightly through the dewy grass, spinning and twirling as she recalled the dance steps she had learnt as a child years ago. She finished the whole sequence with a curtsey for her imaginary audience – only not so imaginary when she heard a lone person clapping. “Malfoy? What are you doing here?”

*Dark of the Moon*

“Harry and Ron could be so infuriating sometimes,” Hermione huffed mentally to herself as she stalked through the deserted stone hallways of Hogwarts. “I mean, what’s wrong with liking books? All of Ron’s snide little comments: ‘Are you going to the library again, Hermione?’” she mocked, rolling her eyes. “Or: ‘Wow, I just can’t believe you spent the whole day reading. Really, you should be outdoors more often.’ Haven’t that git noticed I am always in the stands when the pair of them practice Quidditch? That I try to read outside if I could?”

“And Harry,” she continued her tirade, “he’s almost as bad. If he’s not playing Quidditch or doing things related to school, he’s off snogging Ginny. It’s not really their fault, I suppose, what with the war finally being over and the need to ‘celebrate’ their renewed relationship and all, but can’t he talk to his best friends too? It can’t be that hard, can it? This is a boarding school, for Merlin’s sake; we’re around twenty-four seven and he still – can’t – talk – to – us – for – more – than – five – frigging – minutes!”

Hermione punctuated each word with a hard stomp, gritting her teeth regardless of the warnings her parents had always given her. She wasn’t worried about being caught by Filch; she was Head Girl and thus had the right to wander around at night to her heart’s content.

Having calmed down slightly, she walked around the castle aimlessly; she was too restless to just lie down and go to sleep. Besides, it was a Saturday tomorrow, and she could sleep in as long as she wanted.

After breaking up a few unsuspecting couples hidden in broom closets – “couldn’t they go kiss in the Room of Requirement or something?” – Hermione’s legs took her unconsciously to the Entrance Hall, facing the intricately carved wooden doors which leaded to freedom, an escape from all the stress of the NEWTs at the end of the school year.

The young woman hesitated just before the entrance, biting her lip as she stared at the wise, ageless beauty of Rowena Ravenclaw engraved in the ebony: should she go or should she not? Making up her mind quickly, she drew her wand from the pocket of her jeans – not the back one, thanks to Mad-Eye – and with a series of taps and a whispered password, the door swung open soundlessly, closing behind her as soon as she was clear.

Hermione stood at the top of the weathered marble steps, taking in deep lungfuls of the sweet, refreshing night air as she waited for her eyes to adjust to the darkness. It was only ever at Hogwarts that she could experience the air of the countryside; her house with her parents was in London, and all she smelt on the street were the exhaust fumes from the vehicles as they drove past.

She blinked; her eyes had now pretty much adapted to the dark. Hermione turned her face to the sky, and smiled when she liked what she saw. It was the dark of the moon, and with the glowing yellowish-white orb gone, the stars were all set to dazzle people with their brightness. The entire blanket of royal blue was dotted randomly with bright white specks, and Hermione marveled at their beauty. It was strange to think that stars as pretty as these were actually no more than huge burning balls of gas.