Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 21

"An enemy cannot disappoint, as betrayal is expected from their part. But the lies and deceit of a friend are akin to a knife blade in the heart."

Hermione had cast the Laceration Curse, and George Weasley found himself face down on the concrete, black filament bonds wrapping around his limbs so tightly they left marks on his skin. She hadn't thought twice, especially when he had lunged at her, a knife in hand with the intent to kill. She was out of harm's way. At least for the moment.

As the adrenaline subsided, Hermione felt a sharp pain twist in her stomach. Her friend had managed to graze her with his weapon. Lifting her shirt slightly, she observed with horror the blood flowing from the cut on her side. He hadn't succeeded in plunging the blade in, but the tingling sensation was strong enough to bring tears to her eyes.

She forced herself to keep her wand raised, her stomach too knotted with apprehension to worry about her injury. In a fluid motion, Hermione released McGonagall, who was still pinned against the stone table, wheezing, struggling against the pain that had caused her to faint numerous times. The headmistress's wrists were bloody, and pieces of flesh hung, the shocks and pressure having caused damage. Hermione swallowed, fighting back the urge to vomit.

George Weasley continued to laugh, his forehead against the ground, and his bonds tightened around him as punishment, eliciting a weak whimper from him.

"Miss Granger, I will take over now," McGonagall said.

McGonagall had retrieved her wand and handed Hermione hers, seeking a spark in her eyes. But Hermione couldn't bring herself to look, so tight was her throat with guilt.

"Your wrists, McGonagall... they need to be healed."

The forty-year-old clicked her tongue impatiently in response, despite the strength of her mind, her limbs seemed devoid of any energy.

"That can wait. We will go to a safe house of the Order, one of my spies is there."

Hermione swallowed. Without further ado, she searched the rest of the cellar to retrieve her shoulder bag and returned to the side of the redhead. He had slumped in pain. The lines of his face now softened by deep sleep, George Weasley almost looked like an angel. Yet, he had committed atrocious acts, and the young Gryffindor still couldn't believe it, so great was the shock. With a sweeping motion of her arm, Minerva conjured a black bag that wrapped around their common enemy's head.

"If he wakes up, I wouldn't want him to know our location," she justified.

Hermione nodded, tics forming, causing the tips of her fingers to twitch against her thighs. The headmistress analyzed her with gentleness, a sad glimmer in the depths of her eyes.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I can only imagine how you must be feeling..."

"I'm fine," she interrupted hastily, her face pale. "I'm sure we'll find answers to our questions." The young woman locked eyes with the headmistress of Hogwarts agitatedly. "Let's hurry, I don't yet know how long he'll remain unconscious."

McGonagall understood the message she was trying to convey: George was dangerous, and they didn't know when he would strike again.

"I will send a message to Professor Slughorn to inform him of our... discovery. As soon as he's able, he will bring in wizards to thoroughly inspect the premises. Don't worry, Miss Granger."

Hermione pretended to be interested, although her brain was mush. She felt exhausted, betrayed, and destroyed. She had just survived threats from her friend. The torture spell still radiated through her body, causing her to shudder, but she remained strong. She didn't want to be a nuisance or slow down Minerva. So, gritting her teeth to contain her pain, she reached out her small hand towards the headmistress's arm, carefully avoiding looking at George Weasley's body, now hanging at an odd angle.