Hermione sprawls down on the grass in the centre of the maze, when they finally reach it. Malfoy dries up the dew for her with a charm before the wet can soak into her cloak, and the charm makes the ground feel like it's been soaking up the midsummer sun. It's warm beneath her, and the stars and moon are bright, and she lies on her back and looks up at them while Malfoy settles beside her, sitting tailor-fashion and plucking idly at daisies. They don't talk at much, just whispers back and forth now and then about constellations, and shooting stars, and there – right there, that's a Muggle satellite. She lies with her head pillowed on her hands and the sky soaring up above her. Time passes without meaning, and peace settles in her bones.