Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 3

'It is destiny that deals the cards, but it is we who play them.' Randy Pausch

As Hermione Granger navigated the winding corridors of Hogwarts late at night, she remembered that she hadn't yet shared the news with her friends. Unconsciously, she withdrew into herself, needing time to process her conversation with McGonagall. Despite her inner turmoil, she found herself drawn to the seventh-floor tower where the Fat Lady's portrait hung.

Her feet carried her there, torn between indecision and determination. The Gryffindor common room was just two turns away from the school's corridors. Her heart raced, and she forced herself to take deep breaths, trying to calm the storm within. How would her friends react? She dreaded the thought of encountering the tall, blond figure with his air of arrogance and irritability

She absolutely did not want to find herself alongside the tall and pretentious Malfoy.

With resolve, she pushed forward, loosening the tie that felt like a noose around her neck. The Fat Lady greeted her with a pinched smile, launching into a raucous song. Hermione interrupted her strident performance by uttering the two words that granted her access to her former house: "Fortuna Major!" Under an insult well punctuated with saliva, the portrait of the lady swiveled to reveal a hole in the wall. Following the passage, Hermione emerged into the grand common room adorned in red and gold. Her eyes scanned the room, seeking her precious companions. They settled on two figures: Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, ensconced in plush armchairs. The pair exchanged Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes candies, while George, Ginny's brother, continued his sales nearby. The eldest Weasley had changed sectors, now immersed in the magical realms of a remote yet thriving London business.

When Seamus caught sight of her, a mocking smile played on his lips. His face was smudged with soot, and his black hair stood up like a hedgehog, reminiscent of their early years in Potions class at Hogwarts.

"Have you tried another catastrophic recipe?" Hermione asked, amused.

Seamus merely shrugged, feigning indifference while clearly offended. Dean, by his side, burst into laughter.

"Not everyone excels in every sphere they touch, Hermione," Dean chimed in.

"Oh, Seamus, don't forget she's not invincible. If I recall correctly, Granger can't fly on a broomstick," Dean teased.

The boys erupted in laughter, their eyes gleaming with mischief. Hermione tried not to take the bait but failed.

"I can fly perfectly well, Dean, thank you. I just don't find it appealing to see the world as tiny dots and freeze to feel a bit of adrenaline."

"Scared of heights, then?" Seamus quipped.

Hermione chuckled.

"If heights don't give you adrenaline, do books really allow it?"

Seamus, still leaning on the couch, shot her a challenging look. A glimmer of interest danced in his eyes.

"Not anymore," she wanted to reply.

Instead, she settled for a nonchalant shrug, and the two Gryffindors burst into laughter.

"You're unbelievable," Seamus whispered, irrepressible as ever.

"Fair enough," Hermione conceded.

"Fair enough," the two jesters echoed in unison, a playful smile gracing Hermione's face.

"Looking for Harry, are you?"

"I think you've hit the bullseye." Dean Thomas quipped, thoroughly amused.

Hermione exasperated, made her way toward the dormitories to seek answers on her own.

"He's in the Room of Requirement with Ginny. I wouldn't bother them too much if you know what I mean."

Hermione giggled, as the two Gryffindors raised eyebrows and pretended to grope each other.

"Don't worry guys, I'm sure Ginny is more graceful than you two combined."

Dean Thomas choked under his breath, and Seamus playfully slapped his large hand against Dean's back.

"No hard feelings," she laughed before heading towards the exit.

"Aren't you staying with us?" Dean asked.

Hermione pondered for a few seconds before politely declining the offer. She had avoided her current situation long enough. If she was going to face the damn Draco Malfoy, she might as well do it right away. Offering them a contrite smile, she promised to catch up later and slipped through the corridors of Hogwarts, her mind a whirlwind of thoughts.

As she passed several students, Hermione overheard, "Do you think we'll learn non-verbal spellcasting this year?"

Turning her head away from their pointed glances, the young Gryffindor forced herself to swallow. Non-verbal spells were uncommon, and very few wizards had the ability to cast them. Maybe the last years would have the chance to learn to master them? Hermione remained lost in thought, even as she stumbled upon an altercation in a corridor. Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini were pressed against the wall, their clothing rustling, and their breaths heavy. As a prefect, Hermione should have ordered them back to their dormitories, away from prying eyes—it was forbidden to engage in such behavior in the public wings of the school. And besides, it was late.

Pansy straightened her disheveled hair, her lips swollen under the torchlight of Hogwarts. The young Slytherin shot Hermione a haughty, defiant look. Realizing that his partner was no longer participating in the enticing activities of carnal desire, Zabini turned around.

"Granger," he greeted.

One eyebrow raised, almost jaded, Hermione replied flatly :

"I recommend the third-floor girls' bathroom. There will be less risk of traumatizing a poor first-year."

"I don't think that's the best response to give as a Prefect," he retorted, tilting his head to the side, a smirk distorting his swollen lips.

"My duties are on hold for tonight, Zabini. But tomorrow is another day."

Casting a final glance at the students, she waved them off with a brief "Good evening" before opening the door to her dormitory. Just as she was about to shut herself inside, Hermione overheard their exchange:

"What's the Mudblood playing at? If she thinks she has our favor now that she's dealing with Draco, she can dream on!"

"Calm down, Pansy," Zabini murmured. "She was trying to be nice, and honestly, we're lucky she didn't report us."

"I'm not blind! The famous perfect war heroine who saves the cause... I see through her game, and I'm sure Draco does too."

Proudly, she added, "He'll make short work of her!"

Pressed against the wooden partition separating her from the two Slytherins, Hermione took a trembling deep breath. Merlin, what a catastrophic situation, she thought. She sincerely hoped not to encounter the tall blond with the steely gaze. She didn't think she was up for a verbal duel. She lacked both the desire and the energy. But fate had a peculiar way of turning things around. And Hermione's prayers went unanswered, as she sensed a presence beside her. Draco Malfoy's voice echoed in the darkness of their shared space, beguiling:

"Already exhausted, Granger?"

"Bloody Slytherin," she muttered under her breath, straightening up to face her former tormentor.

The game was on. But who held the dice?

Her hands damp with apprehension, Hermione forced herself to meet his gaze and swallowed hard. Draco Malfoy lay sprawled on the oversized couch that served as their makeshift common room, as if he'd spent a lifetime within these walls. His smirking expression, unabashedly observing her, screamed of a cat ready to pounce on its mouse.

And definitely, Hermione, stubborn as she was, would absolutely not let this happen.