"WHERE DID YOU GET THAT SWORD??? WHERE???"
Fingers tangled in her hair, forcing her head back.
"We found it!"
"ANSWER ME!!! CRUCIO!!!"
"Draco, bring the goblin." — Lucius.
Cutting deep, nearly to the bone,
She looks into silvery eyes...
Hermione sat up in bed, gasping and trembling. Thank Merlin for muffling charms. Night after night, the same nightmare haunted her — always the same scene from Malfoy Manor. The characters changed: the trembling madness of Bellatrix, the disgust on Narcissa's pale face, the predatory hunger in Greyback's eyes, the flushed excitement on Lucius's...
But tonight was the worst — Draco Malfoy's wide, terrified eyes.
Her Slytherin classmate should have been sneering, wand raised, ready to join the torture. She could've convinced herself it was just another school corridor fight.
But Draco, silent in that drawing room, Draco, trembling, Draco, horrified — that was the truth. Hermione was certain she wouldn't survive that day.
Stop.
She reached for the towel and bowl of water she now kept by her bed. Wiping her face and neck, she lifted her damp curls with one hand and dribbled cold water onto her left forearm. Then, with a gentle wandless spell, she vanished the bowl and jug.
Hugging her pillow, she whispered her mantra:
Everything is okay.
You are safe.
Ron came.
Harry came.
Dobby came.
The seaside cottage.
Breathe.
She hoped it would be enough to fall asleep again. At the Burrow, everything had been fine. And then that summer, living alone at her parents' house. But ever since coming back to Hogwarts, her days blurred into a haze: eating on autopilot, hiding dark circles under her eyes with glamours. Like a dream.
The only time she had felt truly awake was today, during Advanced Divination — of all places — and with Draco Malfoy — of all people. At that tiny table, she'd been practically on his lap. She'd never been that close to a Slytherin, except when she'd slapped him in third year.
Yet, he hadn't seemed threatening, hunched on his pink pouf. Sad and withdrawn, despite his usual arrogant posture. His eyes, when he looked at the tea leaves — what had he seen? What could make him look like that? She was dying of curiosity, even though she didn't believe in that nonsense.
Hermione reached under her pillow and pulled out a crumpled scroll — Harry's latest letter. His words always comforted her, though Auror training left him little time to write.
...They're putting a lot of pressure on us, Hermione. For some, it's too much. Susan Bones dropped out yesterday, Ron the week before. But I'm not allowed into battle zones, so I just join raids on Death Eater manors or Knockturn Alley shops.
I hate that you still can't sleep properly. Neville says you're not talking to anyone — Hermione, you promised you wouldn't do that. You can't go through this alone. You have to let someone help you. I don't care who.
Hermione shook her head. Who could help her? Harry and Ron were so far away…
Ron. It still hurt to think of Ron. She missed him. She wanted to talk. How long would he and Ginny stay angry? Probably forever. No one brooded like a Weasley.
No, she wouldn't dwell on Ron. Someday, somehow, they'd make up and be friends again. He was working at the joke shop, if The Daily Prophet was to be believed. And his family was close — even if Fred could never come back. Ron would be okay.
She worried about herself. And Harry. Harry was right — she needed someone. But who had the strength? Neville still flinched when anyone mentioned the war, as if expecting another snake to pop out at any moment.
Ginny had more than enough strength, but she coped with post-war trauma in frightening ways. Over the summer, she found Mad-Eye Moody's old notebooks and convinced an Unspeakable to help her decode them. She also got her hands on Moody's magical trunk. Now she lived somewhere in Hogwarts no one knew about and braided her beautiful hair so it wouldn't be stolen for Polyjuice. Ginny was still furious about breaking up with Harry — his name wasn't even allowed near her. She had no interest in helping Hermione, and Hermione didn't blame her.
Hermione sighed. She had hoped that aiming for eight NEWTs would distract her — but it wasn't working. Sometimes, she even missed the tent, Harry, and the Horcrux. No, you don't want that. Even without the Horcrux. Not really.
She wiped her forehead again with the damp cloth. Her roommate always lit the fireplace before bed and whined if Hermione put it out. It was easier to just wear a thin, short pajama set. And truthfully, she found the warmth comforting.
Folding Harry's letter, Hermione pulled out her trusty lap desk, parchment, quill, and ink and began writing:
Dear Harry,
Don't worry about me. I'll be okay...
She paused for a moment, then continued:
...You'll see, I'll pass all eight of my NEWTs.
I even added Advanced Divination today. Malfoy was there — acted like a total prat, of course. He spilled an entire teapot on our table, looked at his tea leaves, panicked, and ran. I'm beginning to worry about his sanity.
Hermione set the quill down and closed her eyes. But it was useless. Sleep wouldn't come. And she definitely didn't want to think about Divination — or Draco Malfoy.
Maybe she should work on her Astronomy project. Over the summer, she'd bought a broken astronomical clock in Knockturn Alley and was still trying to fix it. The clock was a magical masterpiece, tracking the movements of the Sun, Moon, and six tiny planets.
She dove under her pillow again and pulled out a rune-inscribed carved box. Carefully, she removed the battered bronze clock and set it on her table.
The two-foot-tall clock had a dozen mysterious dials, and beneath the bronze gears floated a golden Sun, encircled by a silver Moon and six planet-like orbs made of metal or gemstones. Mechanically designed, like a Muggle clock with gears and weights — but its magical counterpart was far more elegant.
Hermione checked the calendar, then used her wand to turn the first dial on the lid. The Sun glided smoothly in response. The second dial shifted the Moon a degree — the silver orb flashed, then sank to the bottom of the clock. Hermione sighed in frustration. Every time she calibrated one celestial body, the others went out of sync. Even when she managed to align all the planets, the Sun and Moon refused to cooperate.
Now, the little golden Sun was glowing — but surely it wasn't morning yet… She flicked her wand, opening her bed's curtains and then the window drapes, letting orange-gold sunlight flood the room.
Oh. Sunrise. Wonderful. Another day on two hours of sleep.
Harry was right — this was a serious problem. Mantras, potions, even firewhisky didn't help.
Hermione put the clock back in the box and shoved it under her pillow. She needed to deal with these nightmares. If this continued, sleep deprivation would affect her health, her emotional state, and — worst of all — her eight NEWTs.