Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 6

"𝐼𝑡 𝑖𝑠 𝑒𝑎𝑠𝑦 𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑡𝑎𝑟𝑡 𝑎 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑑𝑖𝑓𝑓𝑖𝑐𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑎𝑐𝑐𝑒𝑝𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑒𝑠 𝑤ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑔𝑎𝑚𝑒 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑢𝑒𝑠."

The deadly silence, carrying an unpleasant irritation, embalmed the apartment. Hermione, positioned against the window of her dormitory, contemplated the view looming there, her gaze distant. Being in one of the highest west towers of the castle, the young Gryffindor could analyze the breathtaking landscape consisting of the towering towers of Hogwarts and its numerous stone bridges, connecting one building to another. Some students, formed in small groups, exchanged invigorating words of warmth, their arms swinging, while some gazed at the stars. Down below, where the school's jetty joined the wings filled with flowers and pine trees defying the sky, Luna Lovegood and Neville Longbottom chatted, thoughtful expressions in the corners of their eyes. Hermione felt small and unattainable as she watched her classmates radiate with life in the darkness of the night, where the lampposts radiated warmth. They seemed immersed in another Milky Way, happy. Or perhaps it was only Hermione who couldn't break free from the imprisonment she had erected around her own heart? From this immarcescible and intangible partition.

Her thoughts drifted to her comrade and roommate: the austere-looking Slytherin. He had been quieter in class in recent years, and his gaze constantly wandered with a morbid frenzy toward the exit. Did he wish to escape from the classes or from her presence, as they were supposed to reflect on possible happy memories to create the Patronus spell? She had wondered, and her observations of the blond hadn't gone unnoticed. Grunting under his breath, he had retorted acidly:

"Do you want my picture, Granger?"

They hadn't exchanged words after that. In a calumnious silence, Hermione had written down possible ideas for the next Defense Against the Dark Arts class, then fled the room when the time on the hourglass ran out. Harry had asked her no questions about her progress, and she was grateful for that. She didn't think she would complete the class if this spell were to be evaluated, and that fear, she had buried it in a drawer of her mind.

Malfoy still hadn't made an appearance, despite the late hour, and soon she would go to bed. She probably should stop turning her fingers while thinking about his snarling gait or his avoiding eyes, but it was stronger than her. They didn't know each other, and it wouldn't change. She had made it clear to him to leave her alone, but as the Slytherin's eyes had expressed some uncertainty, his pencil between his long twisted phalanges, unable to transcribe anything on his little notepad, she had felt a tightness in her chest. She remembered McGonagall's words: "Wars cause a lot of damage, on both sides."

Did he have the same difficulty in finding a fulminating memory of joy? Was he in the same impasse as her? How had he experienced the war? She still remembered the anger and resentment she had felt toward the tall blond, especially when she had found herself lying in the Malfoy Manor, crying out in pain, tears streaming down her face. He had simply turned away, and Hermione, for the first time, wondered about the emotions he had experienced in recent years.

She felt foolish for not having thought of it sooner.

At the click of a lock, the young Gryffindor jumped. Knowing the origin of the intruder in the prefects' dormitory, she forced herself to take a deep breath, slowing the frantic beats of her heart. Luna and Neville continued to talk below, unaware of the flood of emotion that gripped the young woman's chest in a painful grip. She didn't dare to make a move. Her body still posted against the large window upstairs, in the hallway connecting their rooms, Hermione began counting seconds to distract herself.

56, 57, 58.

The almost inaudible footsteps approached her person in an alarming melody. Her heart skipped a beat, and she bit her lip, a certain tension pulling at her shoulders.