Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 1

"Dear Hermione,

Training with the Irish team is fantastic! I spend a lot of time with the squad. I can't wait to start the tournaments. The coach says I have great potential and that I'll bring good luck this year.

I hope you're well.

Ron"

Should she taste soap in her mouth due to his blatant lack of interest in her? Should she feel sorry for not hearing more from him? She didn't. There was only silence within her—icy and obscure, draining every last drop of emotion.

A weary sigh escaped her rosy lips. Turning away from the unrecognizable village, Hermione pushed her headphones over her ears and carried her suitcase. With a flick of her wand, she incinerated the letter and Apparated to the King's Cross station toilets. Walking through the stone and concrete corridors of Platform 9¾, the young Gryffindor was surprised to find herself running late. After greeting the train conductor, she boarded, her eyes scanning the rows of rounded students. They were numerous. The cushioned cabins absorbed the heavy silence of the Hogwarts students. Not a word was spoken. As she walked down the long corridor, Hermione caught several glances directed her way. She continued forward, trying to remain indifferent to the mix of consternation and awe in those gazes.

"Mione!" a soft voice exclaimed.

Golden hair and arms enveloping her with joy: Luna Lovegood. She hadn't lost her radiance. Her pale skin bathed in sunlight streaming through the train's windows. Her eyes sparkled mischievously as she pulled Hermione along into a compartment where Ginny, Dean, and Seamus were bundled up. Harry was nowhere to be seen. Hermione greeted them briefly, listening from a distance to their excited murmurs about the new school year. Seamus was already eager to resume Potions classes, hoping to try a new disastrous recipe that would likely explode his cauldron, covering the walls and his face in soot. Dean, on the other hand, relished Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons and couldn't wait to learn a new spell to cast at his friend when the professors weren't looking.

Feeling like an outsider in the equation and having little to say, Hermione slipped out of the compartment. With her headphones snug over her ears, she weaved through the throng of students in the train corridor, heading toward Hogwarts. With precision, ignoring passing glances, she cracked open a window in the deserted hallway and pulled out a cigarette. This wretched habit had started during the war. There were many ways to soothe her nerves, but the cigarette between her slender fingers allowed nicotine to drown her inner anxiety. She no longer felt the passion for learning or the overwhelming enthusiasm of seeing familiar faces. There was only darkness within her, eased only by a drink or a smoke. Pathetic, she thought.

As the wind brushed against her face and her eyes fixed on the mountains and trees defying the sky with their height, Hermione fought the heat creeping up her neck. She recognized this sensation. Someone was watching her.

Grumbling under her breath, she forced herself to stay in place, ignoring the lewd looks that were constantly being thrown at her. Hermione was the Golden Girl.

The triumph of the war imposed upon her felt like a vise around her throat. Perhaps she should stop dwelling on the countless losses, the sacrifices made for the greater good, and instead focus on the living? Sniffling imperceptibly, swallowing down her emotions, she didn't immediately sense the presence at her side. It was only when a warm hand made contact with her shoulder that the realization clicked in her mind.

Maybe it was a survival reflex, but in less than a second, she had spun around, her assailant now facing her, and she brandished her wand against the newcomer's jugular. Her breath came in ragged gasps, lips pressed tightly together, pupils wide with adrenaline as Hermione stared at Harry, her best friend, frozen under her grip, both elbows raised in a sign of truce.