Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 20

"Hush, hush, easy now, Headmistress. You'll hurt yourself by struggling like this."

The person approached Hermione's cell. The gleam of his white teeth took her breath away. It was a man, she was certain. The voice was distorted by a spell, but his stature couldn't deceive her. He smiled horribly, his body stretched towards her. With violence, he flattened his hand against the bars, making the iron tilt with a deafening noise.

"I must say, I'm surprised you managed to find my hideout and your respective disguises. Quite lovely."

Hermione bit her lip to hold back the venom from her throat. The Polyjuice Potion no longer worked, which must explain why several hours had passed. She radiated with anger. But McGonagall was right. She mustn't lose her temper. The headmistress's safety depended on it. With stiffness, she approached her cage, trying to catch the glint in her assailant's eyes. He recoiled in a stern chuckle.

"Hermione, Hermione... I should have guessed that McGonagall would call on you. The famous heroine and fearless witch of our generation."

He tilted his head, sliding his long fingers along the bars with blood curdling slowness.

"It's a shame. I hadn't planned on spilling fresh blood for a few days. But... aiding the enemy is treachery that deserves punishment."

He circled away, focusing on the body of McGonagall, still lying against the stone table.

"I prefer when the victims are younger."

The attacker's arm rose, very close to Minerva's face, then in a swift motion, he grabbed the hair of the quadragenarian, making her whimper.

"I admired you in the past. Now, you only disgust me."

He released his grip quickly, as if the mere contact with McGonagall repulsed him.

"If it's me you want, come and get me," growled Hermione, her gums raised in hatred.

Perhaps by diverting his attention, he would leave the Hogwarts headmistress alone. The young woman hoped so, at least. With her heart pounding against her temples, she waited for her moment. With an agile movement of his wand, the man in the black cape opened her prison.

"So brave," the individual growled with covetousness.

Hermione felt her body rising without her will, urging her to move towards the psychopath who held them captive. As she braced her legs to prevent herself from moving, she was hit by a shockwave. The imbecile had just cast the torture curse on her. She screamed, her limbs weakening to the point where she only wanted to collapse on the ground, but he kept her standing, a mad smile reflecting under his hood.

"So weak."

He transported her with his magic to a small stool. Her chains clinked against the floor, elongated, in a grotesque song. She felt nauseous when he cast the Cruciatus Curse on her for the second time. Her eyes rolled back, and white spots accompanied her vision, plunging her into an almost comatose state. She no longer felt the fibers of her body. There was only torment. McGonagall had been silenced by a spell. Tears welled up in her eyes.

In an unconscious movement fueled by the rage brewing within her, Hermione lunged at her assailant, knocking over numerous tools, razors, and knives in her path. She propelled her fist into his face, shattering his jaw, and his hood fell back in the motion. Hermione didn't take a single second to think and dove for her assailant's wand, pointing it upward, her eyes gleaming with a fierce glare.

Hermione thought she excelled at dissociating reality from nightmare. She wasn't so sure anymore. Not when her dilated pupils met those of George Weasley. Arms raised in the air, a predatory smile distorting his features, Hermione gasped at the image reflected by her former friend: a dark fire burning deep in his eyes. Blood staining his lips, he seemed no longer in control of his own mind.