The Great Hall no longer felt like home. The floating candles burned dimly, casting long, eerie shadows across the stone walls, and a cold autumn mist seemed to seep through the tall glass windows. Voldemort’s return was no longer a distant rumor—it was a heavy, suffocating weight that had stolen everyone's peace, and you could feel the raw tension vibrating through the entire castle. Sitting at your table, you watched the room, your heart aching as you saw how this nightmare was breaking everyone you cared about. Just across the hall, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were huddled close together, drowning in frantic, whispered arguments; Harry looked completely hollow and bloodshot from sleepless nights, Hermione’s hands shook as she flipped through books looking for answers, and Ron slammed his fists in silent, defensive anger. But when your eyes drifted past them toward the Slytherin table, a much sharper pain stabbed at your chest, because there sat Draco, completely isolated in the middle of the crowd. He was dangerously pale, with deep, bruised shadows under his eyes, his arrogant facade entirely gone as he stared blankly at his untouched food, drowning in the terrifying secret of the Dark Mark beneath his sleeve and the knowledge that his mother’s life depended on whether he could force himself to become a killer. Unable to handle the suffocating atmosphere, Draco suddenly stood up and practically ran out of the room, and you, unable to just sit there, quietly slipped away from the Trio and followed his shadow all the way up to the empty Astronomy Tower.