Author's Note: Obviously I'm not JKR and these characters, locations, and the HP universe don't belong to me. I just like to make believe about 'em. :)
I: The Wheel of Fortune
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Vapor. All Draco Malfoy could see was the ghost of his breath as he exhaled, the dense white mist lingering before his face contrasting against the midnight navy Scotland night.
The cold air was crippling, but he relished in it. What would happen if he took an extra step off the tower? How long would it take before he would be able to take the fate of his life into his own hands? But no, he was not the type to permanently harm himself. He just needed to brood, and brood he did often, finding solace in the high altitude and crisp, clean air of the Astronomy tower. He would look up at the stars that he could not name and lose himself in the quiet of the night. Quiet, despite the nagging voices in his head reminding him of his impending doom. Reminding him that regardless of how calm his environment may be, he has a task that he cannot fail. His family, his safety, his life, everything was riding on the impossible task to… to… He shook his head. That's enough, he didn't need to think about it anymore.
He exhaled again until there was no more air to expel from his lungs. His fingers tingled from the cold and he could no longer feel his nose. Perhaps it was time to turn back; after all, he had his sixth year courses in the morning, not that it mattered anymore. Not that anything mattered anymore. He hardly felt his legs move beneath him as he made his way back inside, his heels clicking loudly against the tile floor as the weight of his body pushed open the door to the Astronomy Tower. Down a flight of stairs, and past the divination classrooms. Like clockwork, he could map his route blindfolded. And yet something was different on that evening. What is that? he thought. Though the dim halls appeared still as always, the air buzzed with the faint echo of a murmur. Transfixed, Draco found himself compelled to follow the sound until it revealed itself, the faint words formed into a chant. His hand pressed against the cold heavy wooden door and his eyes scanned the room. His nostrils filled with the scent of musk, earth, and spices.
"Let it be heard," came a soft, hurried whisper. Draco recognized the voice and moved closer toward it, curiosity besting him. "During this ephemeral Piscean moon, cleanse all evil spirits from within and - and -"
"Professor?" Draco spoke, unsure of what exactly he was encountering. She's off her rocker, he told himself. Professor Trelawney's actions had always baffled Draco, though he never cared enough to try and understand them; he didn't know if he stood a chance at comprehending what she was up to in the middle of the night while her hands were cupping a chestnut colored glowing crystal ball.
Her face snapped up at him, her normally blazing green eyes were misty and out of focus behind her thick spectacles.
"Dark deeds," she said in a voice that sounded too forceful to be her own, "rest on the shoulders of the dragon who will know no rest."
He blinked, wondering if he had heard her right.
"Whose task shall maim all wizard kind, lest he find respite in the one."
"Professor, I don't underst -"
"With the virgin born beyond the arcane, whose star-crossed paths will intertwine."
"Virgin?" he stumbled back, his head spinning with the attempt to comprehend this mad-woman.
"In time, their love will vanquish, lest their wrath consume us all," she finished, her words lingering in the air as though too heavy to dissipate.
Draco's eyes stung, and he realized that he had not blinked in several moments. The hovering line of smoke, from burning frankincense, swirled around the doe-eyed, messy woman before him. In an instant, she shook her head, causing the fog to disperse, disoriented.
"Oh! Mister Malfoy," he jumped at her words, "what on earth are you doing here?" He stared at her, dumbfounded. He noticed that her eyes had returned to their cloudless state and her voice had returned to the ethereal pitch he was used to.
"I was just," he cleared his throat, "I was doing my rounds. You know, prefect duties."
"Ah, yes of course. I didn't see you come in, though to be perfectly frank I feel a bit funny. Saturn must be in Sagittarius now…"
The more she spoke, the less Draco understood. "What do you mean 'the virgin born beyond the arcane'? Whose love will vanquish what? What does all that mean?"
"Pardon?" It was Trelawney's turn to stare at him disoriented, and Draco exhaled in exasperation, struggling to verbalize his own confusion. "My dear boy, you must be tired. You are making no sense at all! The lunar cycle must be altering your aura, dear. Ah, but I must head to bed anyway, I must be experiencing some dizzy spell."
Without another word, she slipped out of her seat and left, leaving Draco to stare at the crystal ball with the chestnut colored glow.
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The fire crackled and roared as Hermione's toes finally warmed up in front of the fireplace. She, Harry Potter, and Ronald Weasley were all seated in front of the red flames, the two boys engaged in wizard's chess while Hermione flipped through her Potions book, attempting to memorize the recipes before reaching the recipe for the Draught of the Living Death. Her lips formed a scowl.
"So you just happened to know to crush the Sopophorous bean rather than cut it, did you?" Harry looked up at her and sighed, clearly tired of the conversation they had numerous times that week.
"I improvised, is that so hard to believe?"
"It is. But that's alright, I have a date with the library soon and I don't intend on leaving there until I learn how you crafted that draught without any issues, Harry."
"Oh, you've gone and done it," Ron said, moving his knight to take Harry's rook, "we don't stand a chance at ever seeing her again since she's setting up camp in her beloved library." Harry shrugged as Hermione's scowl deepened. "I call dibs on her finished homework," he whispered to Harry who grinned in response.
"It's fine," she said, ignoring their lightheartedness as Harry and Ron exchanged skeptical glances, "I just thought I'd study a bit since we've got our N.E.W.T.-level classes this year. You two should start on the Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, it takes at least three hours."
"Ugh!" Ron said, and Hermione wasn't sure whether that was in response to her statement or the fact that Harry had just taken his bishop.
"And I doubt," she continued, pulling her knee-high socks back on, "Snape will go easy on us now that he's finally teaching Defense." The boys nodded, deeply distracted in the final few moves of their chess game, before she excused herself and grabbed her book bag, making her way to the library.
The familiar scent of the library was always nostalgic to her, taking her back to First Year when she would spend nearly every day pouring over each text book. It's not as though she wasn't as studious in her sixth year, but her obsessive demeanor had mellowed as she grew up, her priorities shifting with each year that Voldemort's threat grew and her life seemed more and more fragile. Still, she relished in the solid stillness of the library and the hushed whispers of the students attempting to learn something new.
She picked her favorite spot, deep within the library near the window that overlooked the lake. With a thud, she dropped a pile of four or five books specializing in the potions that she would no doubt be required to create for Professor Slughorn. She dove in, scribbling notes in her leatherbound journal about the history of each potion, the people who crafted them, and the ingredients based on location and season. She struggled to find some edge, any edge that would prevent her from failing another potion. It's not as though she wasn't proud of Harry, and in a way she felt she should be ashamed at how upset and jealous she was at not completing the potion correctly, but years of success through diligent effort left her feeling as though she should have done better.
"Granger," a voice said. Hermione looked up to peer into smoky grey eyes peering down at her.
"Er, yes?" she said, sitting up, "What do you want, Malfoy?"
"I need this book," he pointed at one of her books, Tips and Tricks to Drafting Draughts. As she looked at him again, she noticed how much he had changed over the years. His once child-like pointed features were now chiseled and rigid. He had dark circles under his eyes, and his hair - although still slicked back as was his trademark - was now a bit messier and covered some of his forehead. He wore black now, at all times, and although he had always been a healthy child he had thinned and his broad shoulders were prominent against his lithe frame.
"Well," she hardened, "I don't know what to tell you, I need to read it too. You'll have to find another copy."
"There is no other copy," he spoke through his teeth, impatiently, "listen, can I just - just sit here and read it?" He pulled out a chair across from her and slipped into it without waiting for her response.
"Fine!" she huffed, "I suppose, but don't take it with you, I need it."
"Why," he spoke under his breath, "to get O's on your O.W.L.s again? You've already surpassed everyone, why bother anymore?" Hermione didn't know whether to take that as an insult or a compliment, but she scowled regardless, staying silent as she shoved the book toward Malfoy.
There was something different about him entirely. The way Draco Malfoy shifted in his seat, hurriedly skimming through pages as he located the one he was looking for. His eyes scanned as if there was nothing in the world that could distract him anymore, as if nothing in the world could penetrate his focus. It was unnerving, and Hermione found herself distracted by his presence. What is he looking for, anyway? She thought to herself, peering at the pages that Malfoy had landed on and was now intently immersed in. Felix Felicis? Why is he trying to learn about that? It's in our itinerary, we are going to attempt to craft that in a few weeks, Hermione thought. Her gaze wandered. His long fingers were tracing the lines of the pages and she found herself entranced in his languid, fluid movement. He looked like a man, like he had never looked before. His fingers were long and thin, silver rings decorated some of his fingers, and a leather cuff was wrapped snugly around his wrist. He reminded her of someone, like a muggle rockstar, or Gilderoy Lockhart if he had been sorted into Slytherin. Hermione Granger, you dolt. Are you really comparing your childhood nemesis to Gilderoy Lockhart? Granted, Lockhart did turn out to be a bit of a prat, didn't he? She rolled her eyes at herself, and chuckled.
Perhaps she forgot that she was in a library with other people, but her chuckle did not go without attracting attention. Malfoy looked up slowly, his gaze pinning her down. Hermione felt the hot crawl of a blush sneak up her neck and rest in her cheeks as she avoided his eye contact.
"This," she stammered, "this book is just funny."
"That book is funny? Eighth Century Potionmasters and their Canny Apprentices is a funny book?" Hermione would have laughed at herself if she didn't feel so embarrassed by this moment. She was grateful that Malfoy was not adept at Legilimency, otherwise she would not have been able to live another day without shame.
"Yes, actually, these people led very interesting and sometimes, er, amusing lives," she retorted and bowed her head into her book, hoping that her blush would subside.
"You're odd, Granger."
He may be right, she told herself, though once she had recovered from the embarrassment she began to feel an entirely new wave of humiliation for having looked at Malfoy that way. Stupid hormones, she thought. Her mother had always warned her that adolescence was a funny phase, but she never thought she would be checking out the spoiled, self-absorbed boy that was Draco Malfoy. Anyway, she told herself, it's not like I care for him. He's just grown up. Any girl would notice that; he's probably still the same old hateful brat that he always has been.
Nearly half an hour of studying had passed before she realized that a book was being prodded in her direction. Malfoy was holding up the book he had borrowed toward her, absently engaged in another book. She reached to take it and mumbled an impulsive, "thanks," before her eyes made out that he was reading a book on Divination.
"Why are you reading that? Are you even taking Divinations this year?" she said curiously. Malfoy's eyebrows furrowed in irritation before he looked up at her.
"I am not," he stated sternly, a strand of pale blond hair was covering one of his eyes but he made no move to fix it. "I did not expect that if I continued to sit here I'd be hounded for my choice of literature. Should I move?"
"I -" He has a point, a voice said in Hermione's mind, it was a bit nosey of you. Hermione sighed, frustrated, "I didn't realize I was meddling -"
"It's fine," he brushed off the rest of her apology, "It's all a crock of shit anyway, isn't it?" A small smile played at the edge of his lips and Hermione reciprocated with a smile of her own and a small nod before immersing herself back into her book.
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