The stars were bright tonight; the sky clear and moonless and the air cold, and Draco stared contemplatively up at the twinkling lights, sipping idly at his beer. He was bone-weary and the alcohol was going straight to his head, hungry and tired as he was, but it was nice. It quieted Draco’s mind, washing away the blood and pain of the night and numbing the hard edges of his thoughts of Hermione. She was alive; she was going to be all right. Somehow tonight he felt the lack of her less. Perhaps it was because she was in the infirmary – Draco wouldn’t have been able to be with her right now whether they were together or not. He could sort of...pretend that they were still together. Shit, he was pathetic.