Blue Moon

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November nights at Hogwarts always carried a bone-chilling cold, the wind whistling through the cracks in the doors, making the windows groan and murmur, blending with a warm, slightly musty scent in the air that was utterly irritating.

Hermione Granger couldn't sleep.

Everything right now was making her uncomfortable. Merlin, had she made a mistake this afternoon by accepting Ron's stupid challenge to chug five cups of black tea in one go?

Oh...

Someone please bless her with sleep.

Hermione lay in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the Gryffindor dormitory ceiling. She'd counted up to the one hundred and twenty-seventh sheep, but sleep still eluded her. In her mind were thick pages of Ancient Runes, unfinished potion formulas, and... a strange emptiness she couldn't name.

She sat up abruptly, still in her thin white silk nightgown that reached her knees, with delicate embroidered patterns on the collar and sleeves—a birthday gift from her mother last year, one she loved so much that the hem was already starting to fray. Goosebumps prickled her skin from the cold, but she didn't bother changing. She just grabbed the deep red Gryffindor scarf hanging from the bedpost and draped it loosely over her shoulders like a makeshift cloak. Her fluffy sheepskin slippers touched the icy stone floor.

The dormitory door closed behind her without a sound—she'd practiced the Silencing Charm since third year.

The corridor was pitch black, lit only by the flickering wall sconces, flames dancing on the snoring portraits. Hermione stepped lightly, her white nightgown fluttering with each step, the red scarf a stark streak of blood in the darkness.

She wandered aimlessly, her slow steps gliding past the moving staircases, past the Fat Lady snoring like thunder, through the hallway leading to the Quidditch pitch. Night wind rushed in from the narrow windows, whipping the hem of her nightgown, pressing the thin silk against her thighs, carrying a chill that pierced to the bone. She suddenly remembered Harry once mentioning a spot in this area that was perfect for viewing the scenery, so Hermione followed her memory to the place he'd described.

The stone balcony was at the end of the seventh-floor corridor, where students often stood to watch matches. Hermione stopped, hands gripping the freezing railing, her scarf slipping down one shoulder, making her shiver. Below, the Quidditch pitch lay silent, the goalposts like giant skeletons under the moonlight. She took a deep breath, intending to turn back, when unexpectedly... a small sound came from behind.

Not footsteps, but a soft sigh, accompanied by a faint whiff of cigarette smoke—mint mixed with magical haze.

Hermione whipped around in shock, heart pounding. In the dim shadows of the balcony, Draco Malfoy lounged against the railing, one foot propped on the step, the other hand holding a magical cigarette that puffed out tiny dragon-shaped smoke. He was still in his full Slytherin uniform, but disheveled in a way that wasn't like the usual Draco: white shirt untucked, hems hanging loose over his trousers, top buttons casually undone revealing his collarbone and a sliver of smooth chest; tie loosely knotted and crooked to one side; black robes draped over the railing like an old rag, exposing his lazy, indifferent posture. His platinum hair was tousled, strands falling over his forehead, moonlight making them gleam like liquid silver.

He looked like a painting... truly beautiful.

She'd discovered him—by chance, completely unexpected. She had no idea what Draco Malfoy was doing out at midnight like this, dressed that way. Hermione's face burned; her first instinct was to turn and run.

"Stay out of trouble," she told herself, already pivoting, her white nightgown swirling with the hasty movement. But before she could take more than a step, a low voice laced with teasing rang out from behind:

"Why are you sneaking around like that, Granger?"

Hermione froze, her sheepskin slippers halting on the stone. She turned back, face flushing under the moonlight, instinctively pulling the red scarf to cover the exposed chest from her thin nightgown.

"I... I didn't see you there! I was just walking, Malfoy. I'm going back now." Hermione's voice stammered, she fidgeted awkwardly, arms hugging her body, eyes darting everywhere to avoid his image.

But Draco wouldn't let her go. He exhaled a dragon-shaped smoke ring that circled her head once before vanishing, then suddenly stood. His shadow stretched long, blocking part of the moonlight. In a flash, he reached out, slender fingers grasping her wrist not forcefully, not coercing, just enough to hold her, warmth from his palm spreading through her cold skin. Hermione startled so much she forgot to yank away or yell in his face; a strange thought flashed in her mind. His hand was too warm, too... gentle for what she'd imagined.

"Wait," he whispered, voice half-teasing, half-mysterious, pulling her closer—close enough that his breath brushed her ear, the scent of smoke and mint mingling in the air, making her shiver. She was so small she had to look up, her head only reaching his shoulder, the red scarf draped over her shoulders slipping down to her waist.

"You found me," his voice had a magical pull, low and whispering invitingly into her ear. "Lucky you, Granger. I’m in a generous mood, so how about I show you something most people never get to see it" His hand lightly touched her bare back, making her heart skip because it was too hot, too warm.

Hermione stammered, heart racing from the proximity—his chest nearly brushing hers through the rumpled shirt, his height making her feel tiny, easily enveloped.

"What... what cool thing? I don't want to get involved..."

Draco smiled.

Merlin...

Hermione swore she'd never seen Draco Malfoy smile like this in her life. Usually, he had that contemptuous smirk or the lip-curl that made girls swoon. But today was different. The corner of his mouth curved just enough to reveal a dimple on his left cheek, showing two tiny fangs below, but the smile was incredibly sweet, his gray eyes sparkling under the moon.

She hadn't thought Draco had dimples.

That smile sent Hermione's soul soaring, like she was hypnotized, forgetting her intent to flee.

"Trust me. Just a little. Okay? Please?" Draco's voice was soft, drawn out like a melody.

I'm done for. Her mind was completely enchanted. Maybe Malfoy had cast Confundus or some spell on her! How could this happen? Hermione couldn't think anymore.

She hesitated. But his gray eyes, sparkling under the moonlight—something made her unable to refuse. "Where to?"

"Down to the lake. But light on your feet. Filch is patrolling near the Astronomy Tower."

Hermione nodded.

They walked in silence, Draco leading. At first, he just held her wrist to pull her along, but somehow it turned into holding hands, fingers tightly interlaced.

Hermione swallowed, never imagining her hand would feel so small in Draco's. His steps were light as a cat's. Hermione had to quicken to keep up,he was much taller, probably a full head more. She secretly thought he might be as tall as Ron soon... and Ron wasn't short. His shadow stretched long on the stone floor, swallowing hers. Each time he glanced back to check if she was keeping up, moonlight hit his high cheekbones, straight nose, and lightly pursed lips all creating a Draco Malfoy she'd never seen: no arrogance, no malice, just hazy allure.

They exited the castle through a side door near the greenhouses. Night wind rushed in, whipping Hermione's white nightgown hem, pressing the thin silk to her body, outlining soft curves. The red scarf fluttered behind like a flag. Draco glanced at her, eyes skimming her bare legs below the hem, then quickly looked away, corner of his mouth curving as if hiding a smile, hand still firmly holding hers to guide the way.

They descended the path to the lake's edge, where grass reached knee-high, smelling of wild mint. Draco stepped ahead, gently supporting Hermione's waist to help her down the worn path. His hand easily encircled her waist and lifted her down. Hermione was stunned by this gesture; the Draco before her was so unfamiliar. His face now looked very soft, lips still smiling.

She faintly smelled, besides the cigarette, perhaps a hint of firewhisky.

They walked a bit further to the lake. When they arrived, Draco stopped, raising his other hand in a silence gesture, but not releasing her wrist as if afraid she'd bolt. He pulled her even closer, his shoulder touching hers, warmth from his body spreading through the thin fabric.

Hermione looked where Draco pointed, and then she was stunned.

Under the moonlight, the lake's surface was like a giant mirror, black and still. And on the water, thousands of tiny lights danced and swirled. They weren't fireflies—they were larger, brighter, moving in perfect curves, as if painting a living picture. Each light left a sparkling trail, dissolving then reforming into spirals, flowers, waves of light.

"The Spirit Dance," Draco whispered right in her ear, his hot breath making the fine hairs on her neck stand. She could feel his lips brush her earlobe. He pulled her closer still, his chest lightly pressing her back as he pointed to the lake, his slender arm wrapping around her waist for balance.

"It only appears on full moon nights in November. Legend says they're the souls of ancient wizards, returning to dance under the moon. Look, they're inviting us."

Hermione didn't respond. She could only stare, eyes wide, breath forming small white clouds in the cold air. The spirits flew closer; a few lights grazed her cheek, leaving a tingling like a mild electric shock. She reached out to touch, but they vanished before her fingers could. The red scarf slipped from her shoulders, falling to the grass, exposing her bare shoulders and delicate collarbone under the white nightgown. Draco bent to pick it up, movement gentle, then draped it back over her, his fingers accidentally brushing her neck, making her tremble lightly.

He stood beside her, so tall that Hermione had to tilt her head to see his face. Moonlight highlighted his features, high cheekbones, sharp brows, and eyes gray like a storm sky. His white shirt, buttons undone and loose, revealed part of his chest; collar askew, tie dangling as if about to fall. He ran a hand through his hair, lazy but captivating, exposing slender wrists with faint blue veins under pale skin.

""It's pretty, isn't it?" he asked, seeming to repeat it for the third time. His warm, low voice, the hand holding hers squeezing lightly.

"Pretty..." Hermione answered absentmindedly, staring at his face, then realizing, she blushed, quickly looking down, unconsciously pulling her nightgown hem to cover her knees, but her body already leaned fully into him, feeling his steady heartbeat through the shirt.

Draco smiled again, this time wider, showing even white teeth. Oh... she thought. He really had two small fangs, like a little wolf. This smile sent her soul soaring once more.

"You know, Granger, there's another legend. If someone dances under the moon with the spirits, they get a wish. And since you found me... let me lead you in a dance?"

Hermione turned, suspicious but her eyes softening. "You actually believe in things like that?"

"No," he shrugged, shirt hems fluttering in the wind, "Not really. But it’s harmless, isn’t it? Want to try?"

Before she could react, Draco released her hand but immediately bent, extending both hands, palms up, long fingers slightly curved in invitation.

Hermione looked at those hands—slender, long fingers, neatly trimmed nails, a few tiny scars along the back. She hesitated, but then her hand placed in his, as if guided by invisible magic.

Draco pulled her to the grass near the lake, where moonlight poured down white—no, not quite white. Tonight's moon had a faint blue tint, gentle, as if mixed with spirit dust. It bathed everything in a soft sapphire glow: grass sparkling like frost, the lake reflecting a hovering blue streak, and them—Hermione's white nightgown now shimmering pale blue, like a water nymph; Draco's platinum hair a flowing silver-blue stream under the enchanting light.

He placed his other hand on her waist, light but firm, through the thin silk. Hermione felt warmth from his palm seep through the fabric, spreading everywhere. She was so small her head only reached his shoulder, needing to look up; his loose tie brushed her cheek as he leaned down.

"Don't worry," he said, voice a low whisper, pulling her closer. "You can step on my feet; I'll lead you."

He began moving, slowly, each step gliding like on water. Hermione followed clumsily, white nightgown billowing, hem brushing his ankles, the faint blue from the moon making the silk sparkle like a miniature lake. Draco led skillfully, hand adjusting her waist, feet turning slowly for her rhythm.

No music, just wind, rustling leaves, and her heart thumping in her chest.

The spirits noticed them. They flew closer, forming a circle of light around their feet. Each step left a sparkling trail on the grass, like walking on a star carpet—but now glowing pale blue, perfectly blending with the moon. Draco spun her, hand tightening lightly on her waist, pulling her close. Hermione felt his breath on her temple, faint mint and smoke mixing with warm wool from his rumpled shirt. The pale blue moon highlighted his tousled strands, veins on slender wrists, making him look like a living statue carved from magical light.

"You dance better than I thought," he said, teasing but kind, shirt hems brushing her thighs as he turned, pulling her so close their chests touched, pale blue moon gliding over exposed skin through his open buttons.

"I... I've only danced with Viktor Krum," Hermione replied, face burning, hands instinctively gripping his shoulders for balance, fingers touching warm skin through undone buttons under the blue moon.

Draco chuckled softly, the sound vibrating in his chest, transmitting to her at the contact point. "So I'm the lucky second?"

They continued, slowly then faster as spirits spun quicker. Draco led through complex steps—a back step, forward, a spin making Hermione's white nightgown flare like butterfly wings. Each pull closed the gap, breaths mingling. Hermione felt his warmth heating her, her heart racing. She tried to breathe steadily. She was truly overwhelmed with excitement. The pale blue moon made his gray eyes deeper, like magical pools.

Suddenly, a strong gust blew, sending thousands of spirits soaring high in a storm of light. The pale blue moon amplified, veiling everything in sparkling sapphire mist, the space dreamlike.

Draco suddenly stopped dancing. He embraced her, one hand threading her hair, the other holding her waist tight. He held her as if she were something precious to protect, the hug gentle as if afraid she'd shatter.

Hermione pressed her face to his shoulder; the cigarette smell had long faded, she only smelled warm wool, lake water, and something uniquely Draco, clean, sharp, like falling snow. His white shirt, buttons open, exposed part of his chest; warmth from his skin spread through her thin nightgown, the blue moon on his skin making him look truly melancholic.

As the wind passed, spirits descended, forming a dome of light over them, glowing pale blue, like a miniature sky. Draco stopped but didn't release. He leaned down, forehead nearly touching hers. Hermione looked up, brown eyes wide and sparkling under spirit and blue moon light, red scarf long fallen, leaving bare shoulders under sapphire glow.

"What's your wish, Granger?" he asked, voice husky, hand lightly stroking her back, pale blue gliding over them.

Hermione didn't answer immediately. She just looked at him, at gray eyes reflecting thousands of tiny lights and moon blue, at rumpled shirt exposing sapphire-tinted collarbone, at slender hand gripping hers.

Then, as if hypnotized, she whispered:

"I... don't know. I guess... um, that I'll meet... the person I love?"

Then Hermione stopped. She blinked at him, waiting for some sarcastic remark.

Draco smiled, this one gentler than ever, melting her heart. " What a romantic, Granger."

Hermione shook her head slowly. "You're so strange today, Malfoy..."

Draco was silent a moment, then released her but didn't step back. Instead, he raised a hand, thumb gently brushing her cheek.

"I wish... to kiss you."

Hermione was stunned, like hit by a direct Stunner. What was this? Draco? Kiss her?

Was she hearing a joke? But despite Hermione stammering incoherently, Draco leaned down slowly, giving her time to pull away if she wanted; she could feel his lips inches away, thin ones slightly parted. He waited, waited for her to back off. But Hermione didn't. His lips touched hers, gentle as a whisper. The kiss wasn't intense or possessive, just tender contact, like asking permission, his arm around her waist pulling closer. Hermione responded, arms around his neck, pulling him nearer, fingers in his tousled blue glowing hair, tongue lightly touching his in a deeper kiss. She felt his height, how he bent, broad shoulders shielding her from night wind, rumpled shirt brushing her chest, all bathed in pale sapphire moon.

When they parted, breaths mingled in blue tinged white clouds. Draco smiled, this time genuine, no hiding, no sarcasm.

"See, Granger? Wish come true already." Draco smiled again.

Hermione felt her whole face about to change color again. It burned indescribably. But Draco wouldn't let her off? He pulled her back into his arms, embraced her, and they kissed again.

He skillfully lay down on the grass, using his body to cushion her. Hermione closed her eyes tight and responded to his kiss. Who knows how long, until the last spirits faded and the pale blue moon dimmed. Draco stopped, hand still holding hers. "Back now," he said regretfully, bending to pick the red scarf from the ground, gently wrapping it around her neck, fingers brushing her lips once more under lingering blue.

"Before Filch finds us."

They walked side by side, silent but not awkward, his hand holding hers all the way. At the castle door, Draco stopped, turning to her. "Granger?"

"Yes?"

"Sleep well. Next time, don't wander alone."

They parted at the stairs, each going a way. Hermione returned to the dormitory, lay down, still in white nightgown and warm red scarf. She closed her eyes, and in dreams, she saw the lights again, Draco's hand pulling her, the smile melting her heart, and pale blue moon covering all like a promise.

That night, Hogwarts was no longer cold. In Hermione Granger's heart, a small flame had been lit, warm, shimmering, full of promise, under the enchanting sapphire moon.