The Snake And The Lion

A throng of men, clothed in dark cloaks and crowned with pointed hoods, joined by only a few women, if any were present at all, crowded in toward the door. The mob was packed so tightly that from afar they appeared to be little more than one black mass, forcefully overtaking the stone steps and wooden edifice that they so eagerly pressed against.

A green smog rose up around them, drifting out to hang over the street. It clung desperately to the streetlights, as if drawn in by some energy that they each contained. The lights seemed to shine even brighter with their emerald counterpart in place, and proceeded to throw eerie shadows across the surrounding houses. Farther down the lane, on either side of the ominous gathering, the houses seemed to go on forever, so daunting in their uniformity that they seemed to create a limitless space that could not be escaped. And in the center of all of this, alone in the night, surrounded by the dank green fog of their own design, the black robed company waited.

Had any of the dreary eyed residents risen from their beds and looked out the window, they would most likely have seen nothing, for the troupe blended in nearly seamlessly with the shadow of the night around them. But no one arose, and the streets were silent. From the moment that the black garbed men and women had appeared on the peaceful street with a flash and crack, not a single sound was heard, almost as if they had laid a spell upon the streets.

The group was moving again. The black mass seethed against the door, and at last, with a nearly inaudible creak, the door slid open, only to be filled by dark body after dark body, seemingly blocking the way. All was still again, until a great green flash shone out the windows, suddenly illuminating the houses on either side. The throng packed in tighter against the door. A second flash of green light, and the whole world could have heard the scream that echoed into the night, far away over the rows of houses, away from the green smog and the sleeping neighborhood. But still no one woke.

And then all was still. The black mass broke apart, each individual figure stepping away, and disappearing with a final pop into the night, until only one remained. He raised his hand to the sky, brandishing his wand. The green light sprung out from where he stood, suspending itself above him in the sky. His face was blank and cold, and for a moment, before he too disappeared with a final crack, the reflection of a snake leaving a skull’s mouth could be seen in his eyes.

***

She was dreaming about him again. It was becoming a problem. This wasn’t the first time that Hermione had woken up, covered in sweat, with that same image of Draco Malfoy glued behind her eyes. It had started about a month ago. Ron and Harry had become so wrapped up in their research on Horcruxes that she was often left to herself. As a result, it seemed, her days were filled with schoolwork, and her nights were filled with, well, Malfoy. She shuddered at the thought.

It wasn’t long before their daily contact became distracting for her. Not that the ever spoke. At most it was an angry sneer from him across the room. And yet, as her dreams became ever more detailed and violent, it seemed that she could not get him off her mind. It was rather unpleasant, or at least Hermione thought so, to have someone whom she hated so much plaguing her thoughts.

***

Hermione was sitting in the library, her nose buried in yet another potions book. The last three she had checked were inexplicably missing the recipe she needed, and they were now resting atop a rather large pile of books beside her. Someone had been speaking quietly on the other side of the bookshelf opposite her, but only now did his voice rise so that she could hear it.

“I told you Crabbe, its happening tonight. You’re a Death Eater now, you can’t afford to be an imbecile.”

The voice was undeniably Malfoy’s. Hermione’s interest was sparked, and she leaned forward, over her stack of books, in order to peer through the rows of shelves into the next aisle. Malfoy was completely concealed by the books, and Hermione gently pushed a few to the side so that she could see clearly. Crabbe turned and walked away, leaving Malfoy alone. Hermione watched as he stamped his foot on the ground in frustration. Her eyes fell upon his left forearm, where the Dark Mark seemed to pulse angrily. He ran his fingernails along it, leaving angry red marks all the way up his forearm.

Malfoy’s eyes snapped suddenly in her direction, causing her to stagger backward and knock her stack of books to the ground. Hermione stood perfectly still, terrified. An agonizing moment of silence later, she leaned forward to see if Malfoy had gone. The aisle was empty. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, leaning backwards into something hard. Malfoy. She whipped around, her cheeks turning red at being caught.

Their eyes met, and Hermione’s cheeks reddened even more, as much as she willed them not to. Malfoy took a step forward, backing her up against the bookshelf, a smirk spreading across his face.

“Listening, were we Granger?” His voice was tipped with amusement, and when she failed to reply, he continued. “It’s really not polite to stare, Granger.” He ran his finger along her jaw and down her neck. “People are going to think you want me.”

Hermione couldn’t suppress the hiss that escaped her lips at that. Before she could stop herself she had grabbed his left arm and yanked up his sleeve, exposing his mark. With her eyes on his the whole time, she spit on his arm, spit on that evil mark. And then she turned on her heel and walked away. Hermione had no idea where Malfoy was going that night, but she was sure he would be in her dreams.