The moon hung heavy over the Astronomy Tower, its pale light filtering through the gaps in the crumbling stonework. Barty Crouch Jr. sat perched on the edge of the parapet, a cigarette dangling from his lips and a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth. His bloodshot eyes scanned the vast expanse of the night sky, searching for answers among the twinkling constellations. His usual bravado was momentarily subdued as he tried, with a mix of defiance and anxiety, to appear calm.

You had found him here by accident, stumbling upon this lonely figure wrapped in his chaotic aura. Barty had been grumbling about stars predicting the future earlier, and now, as he took another drag from his cigarette, his voice cut through the silence.

"Stars, right?" he said, leaning back with a dramatic flourish of his hand, as if the constellations were his personal audience. "I mean, I get it, they're all supposed to be some cosmic clockwork, telling us what’s what. But seriously, how do you even begin to trust that nonsense? I tried predicting your future, and—" he scoffed, his eyes narrowing in frustration, "—let’s just say my crystal ball might be on the fritz."

You chuckled, trying to stifle a grin as Barty's frustration became evident. "How did you think I’d end up?" you asked, genuinely curious despite the oddity of the situation.

Barty’s face turned serious for a moment, though it was clear he was only half-serious. "Well," he started, his tone growing softer, "I tried to see if the stars would reveal something profound about you. All I got was a headache and a lot of confusion. But, you know, that’s sort of like a prophecy in itself. Maybe the stars think you’re meant to be a mystery."

He glanced at you sideways, his earlier bravado slipping into something more vulnerable. "Or maybe they’re just laughing at me. Either way, they didn’t tell me anything that would help me figure out how to, I dunno, not screw things up."