Prince of snakes | Dramione

Chapter 19

"There are promises that cannot be kept."

Draco had disappeared again. Hermione was certain he had deserted Hogwarts to accomplish a task or something she didn't know. His absences were becoming more frequent. And just as the young woman convinced herself that he was safe, she wondered if she would have the chance to catch a glimpse of his silver eyes before her departure into the unknown. Towards a mission that could endanger her inner barriers. Perhaps even her life. She was reluctant to take flight with McGonagall to follow the mission that had been entrusted to her, but time was running out and dawn was beginning to break. Soon, she would have to set sail and leave. Hunt down a murderer.

Her breathing became erratic. Not under the stress of lurking danger, but from leaving a part of herself behind. Draco deserved answers she couldn't give him. The imperative to keep such a secret tied her throat in knots. Maybe it was better that Hermione didn't come across the Slytherin. Lying to him to his face seemed unbearable. With her shoulder bag slung over her, the young Gryffindor grasped the edges of her creamy white shirt, her fingers trembling.

After a laborious breath under the tension in her body, she straightened her shoulders. Chin up, she gazed at the large green posters and banners adorned with serpent ornaments, a faint smile frozen at the corners of her lips.

Hermione forced herself to close her eyes, her heart pounding in her chest. She had a bile taste in her throat. She couldn't describe the emotions saturating her brain until they prickled her skin. She was terrified of finding answers to the massacres, and anxious not to demystify potential leads to advance her mission.

Lost in an abyssal hole of worry, she didn't hear the door of her dormitory open and close. The buzzing in her ears drowned out the footsteps against the floor. It was only under the warm breath against her hair that she dared to open her eyelids.

Malfoy stood in front of her, his features hostile. Frowning, lips pinched, his eyes shot her flashes of raw anger. She gasped in surprise when he flashed a cold smile.

"I should have known."

He grabbed one of her hair strands, then, as if he had been burned by hot iron, stepped back several paces. He smelled of whiskey. Hermione swallowed, her throat tight.

"Draco," she began, suddenly pained.

He clicked his tongue against his palate with a pout of disgust. Then, running his gaze up and down her, he seemed to study her attire.

"Tell me, Granger," his tone was cutting and she flinched. "Are you planning to seduce Ron Weasley with a shabby shirt? I expected better from you, really. You didn't have any more too-short skirts to get jumped on by carrot hairs?"

The Gryffindor's fists formed white lines as she clenched them. She forced herself to relax, tired of this situation.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she retorted.

She knew perfectly well what he must be thinking. The Daily Prophet had hit the halls of Hogwarts, announcing Ron's injury and it wasn't surprising that Malfoy thought she was rushing to her for her friend's side. She hoped that wouldn't be the case, that there would be some semblance of trust between them. She had been wrong. Her heart pinched with disappointment, but she held on.

Draco laughed bitterly.

"Do you take me for a fool, Miss Know-It-All? Don't do it with me. It doesn't take a genius to understand what you're about to do."

"And what do I plan to do, Draco?"

Hermione refused to call him by his last name. Not after everything they had said to each other and not when an immeasurable serenity took hold on her when she looked at him. He remained Draco for her. Even if he was furious with her.