It was well past midnight when Harry found himself lying in bed, unable to sleep. The curtains around his four-poster bed were drawn, but they did little to block out the gentle glow of moonlight filtering through the tall windows of Gryffindor Tower. His mind was restless, replaying the events of the day in a continuous loop.
There was something about the way the castle seemed to breathe at night—its ancient walls whispering stories of secrets long forgotten. Tonight, Harry felt that pull stronger than usual. His dream, the one that had haunted him for the past week, flickered at the edge of his consciousness, refusing to fade.
He turned over in bed, trying to push the uneasy feeling away. But it clung to him, like a shadow that wouldn’t leave, reminding him that something wasn’t right.
It wasn’t just the dream. The past few days, strange things had been happening around the school. Students whispered in hushed tones about odd occurrences—flickering lights in the corridors, books vanishing from the library shelves, strange sounds echoing through the dungeons. Even Fred and George, who usually had a theory (or a prank) for everything, were unusually quiet on the subject.
Ron had noticed it too. Earlier that evening, while they had been playing wizard’s chess in the common room, Ron had leaned over and whispered, “D’you reckon there’s something strange going on this year, mate? Feels a bit like last year, doesn’t it?”
Harry hadn’t been able to answer. He didn’t want to think about last year—about the Philosopher’s Stone, about Voldemort’s near-return, about how close they had all come to danger. But he couldn’t deny it: there was a familiar sense of tension in the air, something simmering just beneath the surface.
He rolled over again and stared at the ceiling. The soft snores of his dormmates—Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus—filled the room, a comforting reminder that, for now at least, everything was still normal.
But normal never seemed to last long at Hogwarts.
With a sigh, Harry threw back the covers and sat up. He wasn’t going to get any sleep like this. Maybe a walk around the castle would help clear his head.
He reached for his glasses and slipped them on, then quietly got dressed, careful not to wake the others. Grabbing his wand, he stepped out of the dormitory and into the dark, quiet corridors of Gryffindor Tower.
The common room was empty, the fire in the hearth reduced to glowing embers. Harry paused for a moment, staring into the faint flicker of light, before heading for the portrait hole.
The Fat Lady was fast asleep, snoring softly in her frame. Harry whispered the password—“Caput Draconis”—and the portrait swung open, allowing him to step out into the corridor.
The castle was eerily quiet at this hour. Most students and staff were fast asleep, and the only sounds Harry could hear were the occasional creaks and groans of the ancient building settling into the night. The silence was comforting in its own way, but it also made Harry feel more alone than usual.
He walked aimlessly at first, his feet carrying him through the familiar hallways. He passed the grand marble staircase, its polished steps gleaming in the moonlight, and the towering suits of armor that lined the corridors. Their hollow eyes seemed to watch him as he passed, but Harry had long since grown used to their presence.
As he wandered, his mind drifted back to the dream again. The flickering light, the voice repeating, It’s not over yet. What did it mean? Why did it feel so real?
Harry found himself standing outside the library, its tall, wooden doors looming in front of him. The library was locked at this hour, but Harry wasn’t interested in sneaking in to find a book. He stood there, staring at the door, feeling a strange pull—almost as if something was calling to him from within.
