It was a chilly night. Snow had fallen only the night before. The frozen leftovers of it crunched under his feet. He was staring down at his feet, feeling the coolness of the snow, imagining what it would feel like to be walking barefoot. He looked quite comical wrapped in his enormous winter jacket and oversized snow cap, hands jammed in his pockets. The scarf around his neck was looped over many times but it was still long enough to graze the ground. He'd accidentally stepped on it a few times and as such the frayed ends were covered in bits of snow. His glasses were sticking out between the snow cap and his scarf, the metal frame cold against his face. His nose was the one taking the brunt of it however; it was frozen red. He sniffled every few seconds and took out his gloved hands out of his pockets to cover his nose and pray for it to warm up if only a little.

It had been snowing almost every night for the past month but that hadn't kept him from his nightly strolls. If anything, he looked forward to the end of his days so that he could put on his giant's clothes and go for a walk. The way that the moonlight shone off of the smooth undisturbed surface of the snow looked serene and magical; it had a hold on him. Its pull had been especially strong tonight.

"Come on, Harry!" Said Hermione from further ahead, waving him forward.

She was dressed similarly, only her clothes fit her better and looked new instead of frayed and faded. Her hair looked darker and her complexion fairer in the mysterious light of the snowy landscape. Everyone and everything looked different here; he could almost believe the impossible when he was here. He could be anyone he wanted, do anything he wanted.

He in turn looked back at Ron and waved him forward. "Come on, Ron!"

He smiled at Ron's red face. Only he could manage to not look elegant or mysterious in this light. Ron would always be Ron.

"It's so cold!" Ron shouted so that they could both hear him. The stillness of the snow brought that effect with it; it muffled all other sounds. "How is it so cold?"

"Come on, you two!" Cried Hermione impatiently. "I see a fire up ahead, we can go warm up there!"

"And if the homeless people who are using it don't feel like sharing it with us?" Ron replied, looking like an army couldn't stop him from getting to that fire regardless.

"I'm sure they're very nice people," Hermione answered promptly, always ready to defend anyone and anything.

He and Ron picked up their pace to catch up to Hermione. As magical as the scenery was, they were all frozen to the core and some heat would have been very welcome. Soon, Harry was able to see the fire as well. They were walking on the sidewalk near the street and a few paces to their right was the woods. The fire was flickering from a clearing a ways ahead.

"Odd place for the homeless, don't you think?" Ron asked as the three of them stood on the sidewalk for a minute, all thinking the same thing.

"Oh, they can go wherever they please," Hermione said, brushing it off. "That's their freedom. Now come on, I'll freeze to death if we stand here any longer."

"Harry, I know you love these walks, but do we have to take them when it's so bloody cold out?" Ron asked as they fell in line behind Hermione and made their way to the clearing.

"No one forced you to come," said Harry indignantly.

"Well, no, but you don't expect us to let you wander around on your own, do you?" Ron pressed on. "Who knows what could happen."

Harry shivered from the cold. "I'm not so sure about that. But you are right about it being too cold. I guess we'll have to put off these walks until it warms up a little."

Ron clapped him on the back. "There you go."

They were in the midst of the trees now. It was eerily quiet. There was no sign of any animals, not even the snow bunnies that Harry knew were usually here. The trees were bare as it was winter and so it was easy to keep their eyes on their target.

Harry tilted his head up. the branches were reaching towards the sky and intertwining together. Through the webs of their branches, he could see millions of stars. He sighed, feeling calm and at peace. The world was huge and he was a small part of it. It all took his breath away, how things connected and worked together. It gave him hope that he was a part of the mechanism of life and that his existence wasn't a random and unnecessary happenance.

"A perk of living in a rural area as opposed to those big cities, eh?" Ron asked, elbowing Harry gently, looking up at the stars with him.

"Yeah," Harry sighed again happily.

"I'll remind you of that the next time you complain about our 'boring old town'," Hermione sing-songed back at them.

Harry and Ron grinned sheepishly.

"Hey, look," said Ron as they got closer to the source of the fire. "There's just one person there."

Harry looked ahead. There was a barrel fire in the clearing and a person was standing over it.

"Maybe he killed all the other homeless and now he's feasting on their cooked bodies," taunted Ron.

"Hush, Ron!" Said Hermione fervently. "He might hear us! And that's an awful thing to say!"

"So I have to be nice just because he's homeless?" Ron asked indignantly.

"Yes!" Hermione hissed. "Now be quiet!"

Ron put his hands up in surrender as they entered the clearing. Harry looked at the figure by the barrel. He stopped mid step when he saw what the man was wearing.

"You're not freezing?" Asked Ron, also shocked, as the figure came into clear view.

Hermione glared daggers at Ron, but until then her own eyes had been pasted on the stranger with confusion.

The strange man said nothing and only smiled. Harry could not stop looking at his flimsy looking top and skinny black jeans. His silvery blonde hair fell into his eyes and gave him a sinister look over the orange flames of the fire.

"I don't get cold," the stranger said slowly, looking Ron in the eye.

Harry saw Ron visibly shiver. The stranger's voice was like a melody; soothing and arousing. It made Harry relax but be more alert at the same time. He'd never heard a voice like that. He stared harder at the stranger who definitely was not homeless.

"I see," Ron said weakly.

"We were wondering if you'd be kind enough to share your fire with us," said Hermione politely.

The stranger nodded and inched backwards to invite them to step in closer. They circled around the barrel, warming their hands and discreetly stealing looks at the stranger. The atmosphere was awkward and the minutes dragged on as no one said anything.

"It's a fine night for a stroll," Hermione said desperately. Harry suspected that she wanted to hear the stranger's voice again as much as he did.

The stranger looked Hermione in the eye. "Nights are fine for many a thing."

Hermione shivered and blew in her hands, breaking the eye contact. Harry wasn't sure if he should be scared or enticed. There was an otherworldly glow to the strange man and he indeed did not look cold.

"If you're not cold, then why are you standing over the barrel of fire?" He heard himself ask. He was as surprised to hear himself speak as the stranger seemed to be.

The stranger turned to fully face him and looked Harry in the eyes. Harry was at once mesmerized by the silvery blue eyes staring into his soul.

"I was waiting for you," the stranger said.

As his melodic voice travelled through him, Harry shivered uncontrollably.

"You mean you knew we were coming?" Ron broke in. "Like a psychic or something?"

Harry was glad of the interruption. That gaze had been a powerful grip and yet he felt a yearning inside him to grab the attention of its owner once more.

"Something like that," the stranger nodded at Ron.

"There is no such thing as psychics," declared Hermione, momentarily overcome by her need to state this fact instead of being polite.

Draco extended his hand towards her. "Then there will be no harm in me reading your palm."

Hermione held herself straight and looked at the proffered hand. Harry could see the internal struggle between turning down a challenge and giving her hand to a strange man in the middle of the woods. She finally put her hand out and waited.

The stranger turned over her hand and ran a finger over the lines there. Hermione's cheeks grew rosier than they had been. Ron looked at the stranger suspiciously. Harry felt like groaning. He was with Hermione on psychics.

"Am I going to meet a tall, dark, stranger and fall in love?" Hermione asked sarcastically. There was a hint of a tremor in her voice, but no one commented on it.

"No, you've already met the one that you are destined to be with," the stranger replied, staring intently at her palm.

Hermione bit her lower lip.

"You'll stay in this town for university although you'll get better offers," the stranger continued.

"See, you're wrong about that," Hermione interjected. "I have been wanting to leave this place for as long as I can remember."

"You'll stay in this town," the stranger repeated. "Because the one you love will stay here."

The stranger's eyes flicked towards Ron. Harry smiled. This was entertaining after all. Hermione took her hand back and looked at the fire, her chin set stubbornly.

"There wasn't anything psychic about that," she said. "You're just good at reading people."

"That is a correct observation, but I'm actually a wiccan," the stranger said with a smile.

Ron snickered. "A modern day witch? Like one of those hippies that collects herbs and chants weird things for 'rituals'?"

The stranger looked at Ron solemnly. Ron sobered up in a matter of seconds. "Not that there's anything wrong with that," he clarified. "We'd love to see a ritual."

"Very well," the stranger said.

His voice was undeniable and sweet as syrup; it poured over the words and made them sound new and exciting. They seemed to blend in with the environment around them and Harry was sure that they were powerful enough to melt snow.

They watched as the stranger started pulling things out of his pocket. A small cotton doll shaped like a human, a glass jar, and some paper. He then bent down and picked up a small stick.

"I'll do a binding ritual for you," the stranger informed them.

"On whom?" Asked Hermione, her voice not so confident anymore.

"On him," the stranger said, looking at Harry.

"Me?" Harry croaked.

The stranger nodded. "Tell me your name."

"Harry," said Harry slowly, wondering at the sanity of it all. The night had suddenly gotten colder, and if possible, even more silent. His imagination was running wild. On this night, anything could happen.

"My name is Draco," the stranger said as he started unscrewing the glass jar.

"N-nice to meet you," stammered Harry, staring at the cotton doll.

"Is that doll supposed to be Harry?" Ron asked quietly, eyes wide.

"Don't be so superstitious, Ron," Hermione reprimanded him, her own voice low and shaky.

Harry looked at the stranger, Draco, as he started to burn the doll while chanting something. The words sounded ancient and powerful. He seemed completely in control of them, as if he knew exactly what he was doing and there was no cause for worry. Harry felt himself relax again.

The fire consumed the small doll and its ashes were stored in the glass jar. The stick was held over the fire to char it and some words that had no meaning to Harry were written on the piece of paper and stored in the jar as well. At last, the jar was screwed shut and the ritual was over.

Draco looked up at Harry.

"Harry?" Ron asked, concerned. "How are you feeling?"

"Like myself," Harry replied, shrugging.

"Of course he is," said Hermione, looking relieved. "I'm sorry, Sir-Draco, but we must be going now."

Draco didn't say anything, he only nodded, his eyes still on Harry. Harry could feel his eyes on his back long after they'd left the clearing. The truth was that he did feel different; he felt a strange pull towards that man-Draco. He hadn't been able to stop looking at the jar until Draco had pocketed it and afterwards he had felt relieved and sure that it would be safe there.