Chapter Text
The start of seventh year at Hogwarts was always a special time. The graduating class felt like true masters of the castle, younger students looked up to them with respect, and professors treated them almost as equals. Ahead loomed the N.E.W.T.s, career choices, and saying goodbye to the school that had become a second home for many.
Hermione Granger planned to make the most of this year: achieve top marks, secure a position at the Ministry, and savor the final months with her best friends. But plans have a way of falling apart at the worst possible moment.
For over a week now, nightmares had been plaguing her. Every night she woke in a cold sweat, heart racing, feeling like there wasn't enough air in the room. Lavender snored in the neighboring bed, Parvati mumbled in her sleep, and Hermione lay there wide-eyed, trying to chase away the images from her dreams. She tossed and turned, fluffed her pillow, counted to a hundred, attempted meditation—nothing helped. Anxiety gripped her chest like an iron vise, thoughts spiraling from one worry to another, giving her no peace.
In moments like these, staying in the stuffy dormitory became unbearable. The walls seemed to press in, the ceiling hung too low, even the familiar sandalwood scent from Parvati's sachet became irritating. And so Hermione would give in and sneak up to the Astronomy Tower. Only there, beneath the endless starry sky, would her anxieties recede and her thoughts fall into order. After watching the sunrise, she'd return to the dormitory and finally slip into a brief but peaceful sleep.
Over the past week, this nocturnal route had become painfully familiar. Every creaky floorboard, every portrait that grumbled at her in a sleepy voice, every corridor turn—she knew it all by heart.
Hermione was even starting to wonder if Professor Trelawney possessed some actual gift of divination. At the very beginning of term, the Divination professor had unexpectedly grabbed her elbow in the corridor—bony fingers squeezing so hard that Hermione yelped in surprise. Trelawney spoke in a trembling voice about coming trials, about a dark force that would bind her fate to someone she'd least expect to see by her side. The professor's eyes behind her enormous glasses seemed cloudy, absent, as if she were looking right through Hermione.
At the time, Granger had politely but firmly freed her arm and dismissed the words as Trelawney's usual theatrics. Of course—after all these years, she'd seen plenty of these "prophecies" that never came true. But now, lying sleepless night after night, listening to her own rapid breathing in the darkness of the dormitory, she couldn't help but recall the prophetic whisper: "The stars foretell restless dreams for you, my child."
This night was no exception.
Hermione woke sharply with a cry that, fortunately, didn't wake her roommates. Her heart pounded in her throat, cold sweat beaded on her forehead. The nightmare still clung to her consciousness with sticky tentacles: icy chains binding her wrists, cold slowly, agonizingly crawling up from her fingers, reaching her elbows, her shoulders, creeping ever closer to her heart. She tried to break the invisible bonds, thrashing, screaming—but they only tightened, digging into her skin. And someone's voice—low, almost tender, which made it even more terrifying—whispered right in her ear: "You're not alone anymore."
Hermione sat up in bed, hugging herself, trying to stop the trembling. Her wrists ached as if they'd really been shackled. She absently rubbed them, dispelling the imaginary pain.
The clock on her nightstand read three in the morning. Too early to get up, too late to hope for proper sleep. Hermione tried lying back down, closed her eyes, forced herself to relax her shoulders, unclench her jaw. Counted to twenty. To fifty. To a hundred.
Useless.
The anxiety still gnawed at her from within, thoughts jumping incoherently. With a quiet sigh, Hermione threw back the covers. The cold air immediately stung her flushed skin, but it was almost pleasant—bringing her back to reality. She felt around for her jeans, neatly folded on the chair, and pulled them on, trying not to make noise. A warm burgundy sweater—a gift from Molly last Christmas—she pulled over her thin sleep shirt. Her feet found her trainers by the bed.
Hermione crept silently to the dormitory door, on tiptoe, careful not to wake her friends. The castle corridors greeted her with their familiar nighttime chill. Torches burned dimly, casting long, wavering shadows. She walked quickly but cautiously, listening for any sounds. Running into Filch or Peeves was the last thing she wanted.
Finally she reached the spiral staircase to the Astronomy Tower. Narrow, steep, the steps uneven and worn by centuries. Two hundred and eighty-two steps—Hermione had counted once out of boredom.
On the last few steps she slowed, catching her breath. The air here was fresher, already carrying a light autumn coolness. Hermione wiped her damp forehead with the back of her hand, tucked back her disheveled hair—pointless really, it stuck out in all directions anyway—and climbed the final step.
The Astronomy Tower opened before her in all its glory. A circular stone platform surrounded by low carved railings. The sky overhead—infinite, studded with stars that took her breath away. The full moon bathed everything around in silvery light.
Hermione breathed in deeply of the night air. Here, beneath this boundless sky, all problems seemed so insignificant. The nightmares retreated, anxiety gradually subsided.
She approached the railing, leaned against the cold stone, and closed her eyes. Somewhere in the distance, an owl hooted. Another answered. The castle's nocturnal life went on, indifferent to human worries.
"What are you doing here?" came a familiar, unpleasant voice from the side, drawling with affected superiority.
Hermione flinched, spinning around sharply. Her heart, which had just calmed down, started racing again. Where did he come from? She'd been certain the tower was empty!
Draco Malfoy stood in the shadows, leaning against the stone wall to the right of the staircase—in that part of the platform Hermione hadn't seen when coming up. In his hand he casually held a bottle of Firewhisky, glinting in the moonlight. He looked her up and down with a contemptuous gaze.
"Seriously? Muggle clothes? Can't even look like a proper witch at night?"
"Malfoy, are you drunk?" Hermione eyed the Slytherin, who was leaning casually against the tower's stone railing with a bottle of Firewhisky in hand. The usually composed aristocrat looked rather worse for wear: disheveled hair, wrinkled shirt unbuttoned at the collar.
"What, Granger, can't believe someone besides you has the right to be here?" Draco took another swig and smirked. "Or do you think the whole tower belongs to you?"
"I think drunk idiots have no business here," Hermione frowned and planted her hands on her hips, reminiscent of Molly scolding the boys. "Especially ones who—"
"Who what?" Draco snorted derisively. "Who don't kiss up to every professor? Who don't show off their marks at every turn? Oh wait, that's all you, not me. Sorry, Granger, but not everyone's willing to grovel for approval like you are."
"What are you on about?" Hermione gasped, clearly unprepared for such a dose of rudeness in the middle of the night. "Look who's talking! You're nothing but walking prejudices and daddy's wallet! I see you haven't changed a bit over the holidays—still the same spoiled brat who thinks the world owes him everything!"
"And you're still the same self-satisfied know-it-all who sticks her nose where it's not wanted!" Draco snarled, waving the bottle. "Think you're better than me? You're the one who acts like the magical world owes you something, when you, a Mudblood, don't even deserve to be in this world!"
Hermione's patience snapped. She felt tears welling up in her eyes, but anger overpowered the hurt. She blinked rapidly to chase away the tears, and without thinking of the consequences, delivered a resounding slap to Malfoy's face. He clearly hadn't expected it—his eyes flew wide, his face turned from its usual pale to bright pink. He grabbed her wrist and yanked her toward him, throwing the bottle against the wall with his other hand. Hermione, frightened, cried out and stumbled backward.
"What do you think you're doing, you filthy Mudblood?" He squeezed her wrist harder. "Thank Merlin I was raised as a gentleman, or you'd really get it."
He flung her arm away and grimaced, as if he'd just been holding a Flobberworm.
"You call yourself a gentleman when you say things like that to me? Is that how your mummy and daddy raised you—to put down Muggle-borns?"
"Listen here: don't you dare even mention my parents. Because of you, my relationship with my father gets worse every year. Every visit home, every letter from Father—it's a reminder that I'm being outscored by some Mudb—" Hermione shot him a furious look and clenched her fists. Draco rolled his eyes. "Fine, some Muggle-born girl. That I'm an unworthy son who should be busting his arse just to beat your marks..."
"That's all very interesting, but is that really a reason to hate me? Study harder and deal with your family problems somewhere far away from me!" Hermione angrily blew a fallen strand of hair off her face.
Draco followed the movement, freezing for a moment. Then he squeezed his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose, and sighed deeply.
"Maybe I wouldn't needle you so much if you were more humble and didn't parade your academic success around like something to be proud of," his face twisted into a grimace of hatred and contempt.
"You—" Fury and hatred overwhelmed Hermione, but she didn't get to finish as the sky lit up with a flash of light like lightning. For a couple of seconds, the sky blazed red, then went dark.
The girl felt a sharp cold in her chest, and Malfoy clutched at his heart, staring up in shock. Something like a spark seemed to pass between them, and both flinched simultaneously, as if struck by electricity. They fell to the cold floor, staring at each other in bewilderment.
"What the hell was that?!" Draco bellowed. "Your doing, Granger? Or wild magic?"
"I didn't do anything... I was frightened myself." Hermione ran her hand through her hair and shook her head.
"Well, I didn't say I was frightened," the boy snorted, getting up from the floor. "Have a lovely night—I've had quite enough of your company for today."
Draco headed for the stairs without looking back. The sound of his footsteps gradually faded, dissolving into the night silence.
Hermione remained alone on the platform, and suddenly a strange unease washed over her. Whether from the inexplicable phenomenon or the fight with Malfoy, anxiety and restlessness returned to her soul. Usually she loved being alone on the tower, but now every rustle made her jump.
The girl shivered from the air, which suddenly felt cold, and hurried toward the exit. A strange sensation, as if someone were watching her, didn't leave until she descended the spiral staircase. Hermione nearly ran through the empty corridors, desperate to reach the cozy Gryffindor Tower.
Only after climbing under the warm blanket did she calm down a bit, but sleep wouldn't come. The strange coldness in the area of her heart that had appeared on the tower hadn't gone away—as if something icy had taken up residence in her chest. The strange red flash in the sky kept replaying before her eyes. Whatever it had been, Hermione felt it—something had changed tonight. Forever.