Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 5

'𝑀𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑐 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑒 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑, 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑠𝑝𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑡, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑎𝑏𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑓𝑟𝑜𝑚 𝑡ℎ𝑒 ℎ𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑡.'

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger felt no enthusiasm about being within the walls of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where the new professor, Madrick BoeilFleur, delivered chaotic explanations with grand gestures, his arms flailing and determined eyes fixed on his students. Words flowed from his lips while Hermione's mind wandered elsewhere, the young Gryffindor seeming to inhabit a different world. She only caught glimpses of the professor's Venetian hair from the corner of her eye. His green eyes peered at each individual in the room, searching for a spark of fire and interest.

Usually, Hermione would eagerly raise her hand, eager to demonstrate her expertise or simply to silence the rumors behind her back. Some students had suspected, in the past, that she was weaker due to her blood status. She was born a Muggle, and that didn't sit well with some individuals. Times had changed, but amid her contemplations, a vague memory surfaced, causing an immense pain in her right arm. The stifling heat of her injury made her grimace, but she resisted the urge to scratch at the flesh, to tear away every bit of skin that identified her as such: a Mudblood.

One thought leading to another, Hermione saw herself, through the woods, a year ago, casting protective spells around a tent to strengthen the sense of security sorely lacking among her best friends, Ron and Harry. They hadn't lived in luxury, and the precariousness of the moments had vanished only under the encouraging gazes her black-maned friend cast their way. The young Gryffindor clung to it with a silent strength, beneath her effervescent desire to survive. And it had worked. Until everything changed.

Her scar throbbed again, and she swore silently between her lips. She hadn't spoken of her pains to her friends. She saw no point in sending a message to Ron to explain her condition, especially since he seemed to finally be settling into his new life. They had broken up, and he had gone to live his dream. Even though they remained friends, she had lost that unbreakable bond that tied them. Her inner burning sensation was not important compared to the loss of a loved one. Each of her comrades had suffered, and the scars remained present, tangible, and unshakable signs of affliction. Why add her grain of salt? Perhaps it was stupid to think this way. She knew Harry would express his disagreement if he were to discover the torment her wound caused her. And that was why she stayed silent. It would only worsen his already omnipresent worry.

Exhaling, exhausted from the conduit of her thoughts, Hermione lifted her eyes from her book, which was closed on her small table, and met BoeilFleur's gaze. He wasted no time in speaking again, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I've heard great things about Miss Granger, but being bored in class definitely wasn't one of them."

There were several laughs in the classroom, and usually, Hermione would have had flushed cheeks under embarrassment and lowered her head, ashamed. But she was too dismayed by the lack of empathy from the professor and her own inner anger to follow her usual habits. Who did he think he was? There were about twenty students listening to him eagerly, and just because she was distracted for a few seconds didn't mean he should jump to conclusions about her. Just because she was considered a model student, did she no longer have the right to be exhausted and lost in her thoughts?

"People change, sir, and I think it's perfectly normal to have less interest in certain classes compared to others," she finally replied through clenched teeth, a vicious anger swirling around her.

"Well, Miss Granger," the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor smirked mockingly, "I guess if you're so uninterested in my class, you must not know the answer to the three Unforgivable Curses?"