Third Year

I was enamored with the sky. It really was as simple as that. My mother had taught me at a young tender age that every night at 9, the stars are bright and shining. In Belize, we had to venture through humid swamps and suffer countless number of mosquito attacks for my mother and I to reach the very special place where the sky was most clear. In France, we had to venture to our backyard. It's hard to find a place in Europe where the industry's gases don't block a clear view of the sky.

I suppose Hogwarts could be counted as a miracle. Somehow, the wizards found a way to keep the beloved sky clear so the studious children of Astronomy can gaze and wonder. The blackness is so vast and welcoming, whispering promises of freedom. But freedom is not free. I understand that, but sometimes I wish I didn't.

Hogwarts, 1997

Hermione Granger stared at the sky, breathless. In a strangely cold May night, only days before the Leaving Feast, she had only wished for solidarity away from the loudness of the common room. It seemed cliché, but the Astronomy Tower had been her refuge away from the exuberant Gryffindors. Appose to popular first year belief, the Astronomy Tower was simply too obvious for various snogging couples to venture to, leaving the tower empty and void of anyone, especially in cold nights.

She sighed, loving the beauty of the twinkling stars and the pictures they made. She had a mind for calculations, making Astronomy, as well as Arithmacy, her best subjects. Perhaps Potions, too, but Professor Snape was simply too cold and callous for her to really find it as interesting at Astronomy.

"Granger." A cold voice shattered the silence of the tower, making her jump. She spun around and found the infamous Draco Malfoy leaning casually against the doorframe. His hands were loosely hanging in his pockets and his silver spectacles looked like they were pushed roughly up his head to rest on his white blonde hair. He was the epitome of tense and cold beauty. A Lucifer.

Hermione hated Lucifers.

"Malfoy," she greeted evenly. She equaled his pose, sitting on the very edge of the windowsill with her legs and arms crossed. They stared at each other for a long time, his unreadable gaze penetrating deep into her eyes. She hated when he did that, which was often. Had Ron been here, they wouldn't even had time to look at each other before the redhead slammed accusations on the boy – no, man. However, Ron was not here, and for that, Hermione was secretly glad.

"What are you doing up here?" she asked, finally breaking the gaze. She could never hold up against him.

"I could ask you the same," he replied easily.

"I always come up here, ever since fourth year," she shot back haughtily. He smirked. "Now answer my question."

"You Gryffindors sure know how to mark your territory." He walked closer to the center of the room, looking around. "Though, I wouldn't expect less from an over zealous animal such as the lion." He looked at her through the curtain of hair that escaped the hold of his glasses. She bristled.

"You Slytherins sure know how to make a room a hundred degrees colder." She knew it was weak, but in the case of Draco Malfoy, her responses were either ignore or physical action. However, she was also usually around Ron or Harry when in Malfoy's presence and their protective snarls usually allowed her from telling Malfoy off.

"It's a gift," he replied offhandedly. He had stopped paying attention and was studying the large wall marked Summer. It had the constellations usually seen in May, June, July, and August drawn perfectly against a black background.

"What are you doing here?" she tried again.

"You know, I was named after a constellation." Once again, he ignored her. He lifted a thin finger gracefully and lightly traced the pattern.

"I know, Draco the dragon." For some reason, Hermione's eyes seemed to only want to follow his finger, moving back and forth over the yellow lines.

"That's the first time I heard you say my name, Granger." He finally turned back to her. "Don't make it a habit." He walked back to the door as silently as he entered.

"I'll try not to," she called after him, attempting to sound sarcastic. He lifted his hand in a sardonic wave and disappeared into the darkness. Hermione slumped forward. The conversation, no matter how short, had taken all the energy left in her after a long day of classes.

"Lumos." She pushed herself off the wall and retraced his steps out of the cold tower.

Is it possible to fall in love in third year? I am barely fourteen and I truly believe that I have fallen in love with a boy – no, man, that is far out of my league. Isabella believes she also loves him. I wonder if she does, but she doesn't make her affection subtle. Sometimes, I wish I was like her – outgoing, charming, beautiful. But no, I'm plain and boring. I am nobody, simply my father's daughter.

My father, who was too messed up to return to his home country for almost twelve years.

"Lillian!" Isabella snuck up to her friend and pounced. She was not one for subtlety, not was she one to beat around the bush before coming out and asking for favors. "I heard you wrote Christina a love letter for her boyfriend." Lillian froze in the middle of lifting her pencil after her initial scare. She knew the fact that she went up to the Astronomy Tower every day after classes to draw or study was no secret, but no one has actually purposefully looked for her there.

"Uhh," she managed to force out of her mouth before Isabella began talking again.

"So, I was wondering. She said the letter you wrote was so romantic and amazing, though she had to add a little more personal stuff, and I read a copy and it was really beautiful and I was wondering if you could pretty pretty please write a letter for me to a guy I'm absolutely in love with?" Lillian blinked rapidly, trying to digest what Isabella just said.

"It depends," she began slowly, returning to her sketch of Hagrid for his birthday. "Who is it for?" Isabella grinned, knowing this was a weird form of consent coming from her friend.

"It's for Marcus Malfoy, you know, the Slytherin Quidditch captain?" Lillian froze again. "Thanks so much. I love you and I owe you big time." And in the same matter she arrived, Isabella fluttered out of the Tower, completely ignoring her friend's excellent impression of someone under the petrificus totalus.

Lillian set aside her drawing pad and quickly packed up her things. She was in no mood for drawing anymore.

Hogwarts, 1997

"I heard you were good at letters," Harry Potter said nonchalantly, setting his books down on a table. Draco Malfoy looked up, his eyes revealing none of his surprise. They were just empty and completely devoid of emotions, which scared most people, but not Harry. Harry was quite familiar with the feeling of complete loneliness and lack of will to live.

"Good to know my reputation precedes me," Draco replied dryly. He had no intentions of buddying with Harry Potter even after he had publicly stated his affiliation with the light side in sixth year and moved in with his cousin, Nymphadora Tonks.

"I want you to write me a letter," Harry said.

"So I gathered," the blond deadpanned.

"For someone really special." Harry ignored the sarcastic comment and continued.

"Special enough for you to enlist this Malfoy's help?" Draco arched an eyebrow, leaning back against his chair. His interest was finally sparked. He pushed his glasses into his hair and studied the other boy closely.

"Special enough for me to not want to royally screw everything up with my horrid literary skills," Harry shot back. He knew this wasn't going to be easy, but he didn't expect Draco to be so reasonable about everything. Realistically, he should be writing the letters by himself, but he just couldn't bring himself to pick up a quill and vocalize his feelings.

"Interesting. Who is it for?" Draco leaned forward, his eyes never leaving Harry's.

"Hermione Granger." Draco smirked and leaned back again. His practiced nonchalant pose expertly masked the tension he felt in his body at the mention of the girl.

"Can't write to your best friend yourself?" Draco asked, raising an eyebrow. Harry sighed and placed both of his hands palm down on the wooden table.

"Look, can you just tell me if you're game or not?" he bit out. Draco paused, pretending he was thinking about the proposal, though he already had an answer.

"I suppose," he drawled slowly. The two men stared at each other for a long time before Harry picked up his books and stood.

"Thanks," he said before turning and walking out of the library. Draco stared after him, wondering what he just got himself into.