Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 7

"𝐼𝑓 𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑎𝑠𝑘𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑝𝑒𝑡𝑟𝑖𝑓𝑖𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝑠𝑚𝑖𝑙𝑒. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑗𝑜𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑙𝑖𝑣𝑖𝑛𝑔, 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑛 𝑖𝑓 𝑢𝑛𝑟𝑒𝑎𝑙, 𝑠𝑐𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠 𝑎𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑠𝑡 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑏𝑎𝑏𝑙𝑒 𝑞𝑢𝑒𝑠𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛𝑠."

Hermione had returned to square one, between her hurried lunch at the Gryffindor table, carefully avoiding the gazes of her best friend, Harry Potter, and Ginny's prestigious jealousy, the young woman spent most of her time in the Hogwarts library. As in the good old days, several students whispered, observing her surreptitiously. Some things never changed. She behaved like the everyday Hermione, studious and discreet, but it was quite the opposite. She needed to return to that central phase of her existence, even though it brought her no flame or spark of life.

Passion had died with the torture spells, she thought with pain.

She was nothing but an empty shell, withered and tarnished with a dark hue. Time had this ability to branch out everything, to consolidate the sorrows, like a fortified barrier of resilience. Giving up, after so many sacrifices, would be dishonoring the dead. At least, that's what Harry or Ginny must think. That's why it was important for the young Gryffindor not to lose face, to keep her head on her shoulders, her eyes on the horizon, while showing strength and courage at all times. She was resilient, wasn't she? She had survived. Teeth grinding under the lies formulated and echoing in the walls of her brain, Hermione averted her eyes from her book of non-verbal spell formulas, whose importance predominated in a world as austere as theirs.

There was not a soul in the library corridors. Formed of four floors, with stairs winding down each aisle, the young Gryffindor could probably spend the rest of her days here. That's what she would have liked. Not anymore. The rows with heavy fabric-covered blankets and parchments with natural scents made her squint. It was stronger than her. She needed to allow herself a moment of respite, to try to piece together the puzzle to convince herself that she was still whole. The same Hermione. Only, her interests had changed, and so had her taste in male beauty.

Merlin, muttered the young woman under her breath, her cheeks flushed. She couldn't believe that Malfoy continued to haunt her, even when his stealthy presence was only felt through the walls of her brain. Lost in a corner of the castle, the Slytherin must surely continue to act with pride. What a cliché, her mind formulated in a disguised critique of interest in the great man with the ashen hair.

Maybe it was just a morbid curiosity? Perhaps she needed a moment of reflection and to feel compassion for the second party of the war to finally move on, to turn the page? Hermione knew that the lie had been looming on her tongue for the past few months with an extraordinary ease, almost insidiously judgmental. But she couldn't fool herself. She could deceive others, but not herself. Not when her arm continued to radiate with that horrible feeling of powerlessness. Bellatrix Lestrange's knife, made of dark magic, could only produce an indelible scar. The young Gryffindor knew the reasons for her wound; she had let her guard down, and while her friends were locked in the dungeons of Malfoy Manor, she had fought to save their cause, to hide Harry.

Her struggle had not lasted long. In a few wand strokes, Hermione found herself on the ground, and the witch with bushy black hair had stepped over her as if she were an ant. Maybe she was as insignificant as those little insects? Maybe her Muggle-born blood only brought her an unequal weakness to the prodigious pure-blood wizards? Impossible. She knew her abilities, but the injustice of recent years made her bitter and cast doubt upon her. The serpent's venom had seeped into her veins, and pumping every ounce of her blood, there was nothing left alive in the Gryffindor. She was only a warm body, incorrigible by her impulses, and mortal. She had failed to protect the people she loved, nor save her friends. She could only watch the disasters, turn away, and accept the reality even before it formed in the minds of other wizards.