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By Midnight Cityscape

Draco couldn’t sleep either. H sat by his desk and wrote a letter to his mom. He hadn’t written a single word yet. The parchment was blank, except for a big black ink plump that was forming in the middle of it now. He had sat there like that for about fifteen minutes.

“What the hell,” he muttered and put the quill down. No point with trying to write when he had nothing to write about. What would his mom be interested in? If Potter was dead yet? If he had started to practice Quidditch yet?
No, she wouldn’t like to get a letter with information about the Slytherin Quidditch team. She didn’t understand the great meaning with Quidditch. Narcissa couldn’t understand the importance with the Quidditch in her son’s life.

Draco looked out the window. It was a beautiful night. The stars were shimmering and the moon shining into his room through the big windows. He sighed and started to look for his dressing gown. He found it after e while; it was lying under his bed.

Draco took his drawing book and strutted out of his bed room. The hallway outside it was all dark. He took his wand up and mumbled Lumos and started to walk towards the staircase that led down to the common room.

Someone sat in the couch and the fireplace was lit. Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise when he saw Hermione turn her head to him.

“G’morning,” Draco said, “it is morning, is it?”

Hermione nodded. He walked towards the big armchair that was opposite to her. He sat down and sighed heavily.

“So, what’s your excuse for sitting here?” she asked not taking her eyes of her book.

“I couldn’t sleep, obviously, and it’s because…” Draco said and cleared his throat and continued: “I can’t sleep because of the moon. Don’t know why, but I always dream strange dreams and never feel tired so I can easily sit up three nights in a row without any sleep.”

Hermione looked up at him. She looked very surprised.

“You too? I was born when it was full moon and ever since my birth I’ve never slept well the week before full moon,” Hermione smiled and looked at Draco. “What’s that book?”

Draco blushed a little and looked down at his sketching book.

“Oh, this? It’s my sketchbook,” he said and glanced at her to see her expression.

“Oh, may I?” she asked and nodded at the book. “May I take a look?”

Draco smiled. It was at least someone that asked him what the book was. No-one, not many, had done that. And absolutely no-one had ever asked if they could have a look.
Draco handed the book over to Hermione.
Hermione smiled as she opened it. It was filled with drawings of the garden he had home and the Quidditch pitch...and a lot of pictures of the Hogwarts castle and the Forbidden Forest was there and a lot of other things.

“Oh my god! This is amazing stuff Malfoy!” she said and smiled as she gave him back his book.

Draco blushed and looked at her. She was smiling. And she had told him the truth; she really had thought that the drawing were good.

“Where did you learn to draw like that?” she asked and returned to her book.

“I taught myself,” Draco said and looked into the fire. “I’ve always liked to draw.”

Hermione smiled and looked up for a moment.

“Oh, really, you’re good…no, not good, but great at it,” Hermione said and looked down at her book again.

Draco smiled at the compliment. It really encouraged him to draw some more in the future.

“May I draw one of you? I can’t see anything else to do,” he asked gently. A portrait of a person could end up in a fatal disaster in his case; he never drawed portraits.

Hermione looked up. She smiled.

“Sure, I would love you to,” she answered. “Shall I sit like this?”

Hermione sat up and looked straight at him.

“No, sit as you did and do what you want, it’s much easier to draw then,” he said and opened his book again. “Just look normal and pretend that I’m not here.”

Draco took up his sketching pencil and looked at her. She read her book and her hair was flying. He really wanted to capture this moment.

Draco started to make the outlines of her face and all the other things that were going to be in the picture; the fireplace, the book.
He started to draw her nose and then he worked his way out to her eyes and her cheekbones. He started to do the hair and he looked up. Hermione looked at him and smiled.

“Don’t look at me!” he said and she looked down smiling.

Her hair was soon finished and he started to do the hardest work of it all; the lips. He did them over and over again until he got them as he wanted them. Then Draco started to draw the book and the fire. It looked up now and then.

Hermione was totally in her own little world now and in that world only she and the book existed. She had totally forgot all about the present and that he sat there and drawed a portrait of her.

Draco looked down at the drawing. It was the best he had ever done, he knew that.

“I’m finished,” he said and Hermione looked up from her book.

“Finally,” she smiled and he showed her the picture. “Holy Merlin!”

Draco smiled. He ripped the page out from the book and gave it to her.

“Here, take it,” he said but Hermione shook her head. “Please, Granger, what use would I have of it?”

“Thank you,” she smiled. “But it’s to nice. It’s to good just to give away…”

Draco hushed her and said: “I’ll make another one later, I promise, one that is so much better then that one,”

Hermione smiled at him and yawned.

“Blame it on the moon,” Draco mumbled as he thought of the drawing. He would never do anything better, he knew that. But he didn’t want to keep it; the drawing belonged to her.

“I’m getting tired. To being a muse is rather exhausting job,” she joked. Draco nodded.

Both of them went back up to their bed rooms and fell asleep not aware of that portrait would be lost for several years.

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