AN: Hello, guys. This genre of Romance, is relatively new for me. As a result, I'm quite nervous to try my hand at one of the best pairings in HPFF that I've ever read. My try on that pairing. Please review, and correct me on mistakes, folks. I'd love criticism, more so constructive, but no pressure. Read on, and Review!

It was a full moon night.

And Hogwarts Castle of Witchcraft and Wizardry was asleep.

But a lone soul prowled its corridors. It could not be seen. But if one could look closely at the air in front of them, look very minutely, then their eyes could just follow the faint ripples in the air as the invisible silhouette passed them by.

But thankfully for the boy who was prowling the castle, nobody was there to examine the air like this. But one could also say he didn't look like he cared anyway.

He loved full moon nights. Some way, they did remind him of Remus Lupin. But that wasn't the only reason. He loved it, for love's sake. Why go on to explain it tediously then?

He loved the fact how the moonbeams would drip like molten silver over the parapets of the castle windows, and he loved how the wind would slowly whisper in his ears as he tread down the empty corridors. And he thanked his dead dad for the zillionth time again for the Invisibilty Cloak.

Nobody knew that he went out like this. Ron Weasley was always asleep like the dead at this hour, and Neville Longbottom thrashed about in his nightmares. The Boy knew he couldn't go comfort Neville every time. There are some nightmares you have to bear on your own, some crosses that you have to bear yourself. Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan were both asleep, not like Ron, but definitely asleep. It was only he, his Marauder's Map, and his Invisibility Cloak with him. Oh, and of course his wand.

He twirled his wand in his hands, nimbly. How long? He asked himself. How long, will the wand continue to keep him away from a final destiny that might see his death? Really don't know, he answered himself. He frowned, and moved on. He really didn't like questions he had to answer himself. Took the fun out of it.

The streaming moonlight cast dark shadows upon the castle walls as he slowly walked through the corridor. His wand was not alit; he had long perfected the art of walking in darkness.

When the door to the Astronomy Tower opened, he sighed, and sat down by the side of it. He loved the view from here. He could see the entire grounds around Hogwarts, and it was indeed a lovely sight.

The Black Lake looked like it was on silver fire. Little ripples in the water corresponded with the rhythmic gusts of wind that rose and fell, like the breath of an all-encompassing being. The Forbidden Forest was lovely, dark and deep. Lovely, as it did look like the trees had turned silver, and winter had come upon it, without the accompanying cold and snow. Dark, as the moonlight that illuminated it also gave it shadows. Deep, because he knew there were things at play over there, in that primeval habitat of primeval life, that he really could only imagine, not fathom. The turrets of Ravenclaw and Gryffindor glistened in the moonlight, as he could still make out some small beads of light in the Ravenclaw tower. Really studious folk to be up at this time of the night, he thought. Gryffindor Tower, on the other hand, was completely dark. He sighed, and leaned back, his legs dangling over the edge, and his face upturned to the moon, his hands resting on the cool, stone surface of the tower. The moonlight slithered off his jet black, messy hair, and highlighted the emerald green eyes he had, creating a curious contrast as the brilliant emerald green stood out in stark contrast to the white of his eyes that the moonlight made even more pronounced. He was pale, thin, and short. And he wasn't even wearing a robe. He was just in his trainers, slacks, and a shirt, sleeves rolled up. He didn't mind the cold. He enjoyed the feel of the wind over his face, and there was a creak behind him, an uncertain footfall.

He didn't draw his wand; he just tightened his hold over it. After facing down Voldemort so many times, he knew the extent to which his duelling reflexes could go. And he doubted that if Voldemort finally managed to infiltrate Hogwarts to get to him, he would have an uncertain footfall. So he didn't turn around, but still that didn't stop him from being recognised by the person who had just entered the Astronomy Tower.

"Potter?" The question carried a healthy bit of uncertainty, a tinge of suspicion, a drop of suspense, and a hint of resignation. And, it was female.

"Do whatever you want to. I'll not disturb you." Harry replied in a bored voice, frowning as he couldn't recognize the owner of the voice.

"Okay." Now it was only surprise in that voice. Harry felt grateful that whoever she was, she hadn't started thanking him profusely. He might have hexed her if she did. He followed the sounds of her movements without looking; a rustling and a soft thud signalling her sitting, and the sound of scratching. Was she writing? Harry wondered, then shrugged. It was not his concern anyway.

Presently, the wind picked up a bit, and perhaps a bit much, for from a far side of the tower, something flew straight across Harry, and he caught it reflexively, Seeker as he was. It was a piece of parchment. "On the properties of interspecies transfiguration" a bit of the darker ink at the top of the parchment read. Harry squinted. The moonlight was bright enough that he could read it. The handwriting was weirdly good. Like, not calligraphy or something. It was a lot more….floral, Harry thought, the way the letters intermingled. But it looked good, nevertheless. But was this homework? Harry saw through it again. Oh, crap. It was next day's homework. But he didn't want to do it on this night. Not at all. He shrugged. He'd make do with McGonagall's detention. But a voice broke him out of his reverie.

"If you're done mentally cribbing enough from my homework, I'll request you to give it back." A rather resigned voice said. Harry noted that he had heard that voice somewhere. But he couldn't exactly remember its owner. He levitated it back for a few inches to his back, where the person must've been approaching, and let it go. However, the person evidently didn't do a good job catching it, because the wind blew up again, and the parchment flew past Harry again, but this time, as he put out his hand to catch it, a fraction of a second later, another hand, ivory-skinned, closed over a part of it. Her skin was warm; warmer than Harry's. Both of them froze, and remained like that, Harry's hand closed over hers, hers over the part of the parchment she caught. A shadow fell over the moon, and as it slowly moved away, both slowly turned their heads to look straight at the other.

To him, her head was lowered over the paper, almost looking out over the parapet of the tower, and the moonlight glistened over her midnight black hair, creating blue shadows here and there, and her icy blue eyes stared out from under long lashes. He face was chiselled, pale; and her expression was just like her voice: strangely resigned, though a tinged with an unfathomable emotion that Harry couldn't quite identify.

To her, his head was tilted sideways, and the moonlight spilled into his messy, jet black hair and threw his pale skin into a faint silvery hue, as the round, patched-up glasses covered curious, intelligent, and slightly bored emerald green eyes that stared at her. His face was impassive. She thought that Potter could often be read simply by his face; she had to eat her thoughts now. She had no idea what he thought. She readied herself for the oncoming surprise and revulsion from him, mentally promising herself she'll hex him nicely when he does that.

Instead, Harry Potter asked a very strange question:

"Do I know you?"

The girl looked rather surprised, stunned, even. She sat back beside him with a gentle thud, not caring that her hand was still enclosed within his. Harry registered the fact, but thought he'd deal with that later. He waited for an answer to his question.

"Hell, Potter." She said, eyeing him with surprise. "You spend six years with me as your occasional classmate, and you don't know me?"

She wasn't wearing robes, just a jacket over a top, and jeans. So Harry had no way to tell her House. "No, I really don't." He said.

"Oh." The girl still looked rather surprised, then gently pried open his fingers from over her hand, and drew the parchment towards her as she continued. "They call me Daphne Greengrass."

"Daphne Greengrass." Harry repeated. Yeah, he knew that name. She was a Slytherin sixth year. Though with Malfoy and his cronies, or not, that he didn't know. Did he even have to know? He didn't know.

Daphne watched him out of the corner of her eyes. Potter did not seem to be like what Malfoy and what the Prophet painted him as. She could make neither head nor tail of it, and that frustrated her. A lot. That he hadn't blown up at her for being a Slytherin or not, was also confusing the hell out of her.

"You do homework here?" Harry asked.

"Yes." Daphne answered.

"Hm. Nice spot. And I won't be turning in the homework tomorrow, so no bother." Harry said.

"I see." Daphne replied. Harry was thankful she didn't admonish him.

"Well," she started, "I just finished the homework, and I-I've got to go catch some sleep now."

There was an awkward silence. Then Harry said, "Do you never think how good it might be, if sleep catches you, rather than the other way round?"

Silence.

"Often." She answered, as Harry looked back at her.

"Excellent. If you find a way to make sleep catch you, I'll be very happy to know. Been searching that answer for the past five years." Harry said tiredly.

Daphne was royally confused, and sleepy. And she didn't really want to start yelling at him. But there was a high chance that it might happen. Midnight philosophizing….well, that certainly was a Harry Potter thing, Daphne shrugged, thinking. She said, "Anyway, um…I gotta go." And she turned to go, and opened the door to the Astronomy tower. As she turned back for a last glance, she saw Harry Potter stretching sideways away from her, on the stone floor, as if he'd sleep there only.

Harry looked up at the heavens, and softly said, "Goodnight, Daphne." The wind, faintly though, carried the words straight to the ear of the concerned person. She looked up, with a thoughtful expression on her face.

As Harry's eyelids fluttered sleepily, a small piece of parchment floated down to his eye level. That same floral script.

Goodnight, Potter.

Harry's eyelids fluttered close, as a small smile curved his lips.