The Damsels and the Dragon

The Damsel and the Dragon

Hermione had decided to take Lucius' advice sooner than later, and made sure to slip out right after Sunday brunch, in hopes to avoid Neville and Harry. And as she strode across the bright grounds of the school, she waved her wand around her, effectively changing her informal robes into jeans and a light-weight, black sweater.

While she would miss the snow of winter, she certainly would not miss the cold or the heavy clothing. Of course, it really would not have mattered too much in the forest. Indeed, it would have still been cold, but the severity was lessened by the dense population of trees; it was difficult for wind to break through the numerous trunks and branches. In some areas the trees grew so close together that it provided a great canopy for the few plants that could survive the cold, because very little snow could pass through the crowded branches of the firs.

But in areas like the one she stood in, the sunlight could easily filter through the trees and spill warmly onto her face.

She inhaled the clean air deeply, the crisp coolness stinging her already agitated sinuses. Resisting the urge to loudly exclaim a curse word, she carefully tracked her way through the forest, thinking of how many times Snape must have come to this place to search for ingredients both common and rare.

You think about me far too much, you silly girl.

“I know,” she answered herself, knowing that Snape’s voice was one of her own making. “I can’t help it. I’m living in your home, teaching your classes, spending my time with the people you loved; I’m living your life, the life you were always meant to live.” She snorted daintily. “Hell, I’m probably even walking down a path that you have probably traveled many times before.”

Hermione stopped at a large tree and pressed a palm to the trunk. “I wonder what you would be like, not having to live under Voldemort or Dumbledore.” She sighed heavily and began walking again. “Lucius said that you were impressed by me, proud of me… Before I knew you were a spy, it hurt; every single time you berated me, embarrassed me, it felt like a slap. I spent too many nights crying because of you, and even when we realized you were a spy, it still hurt. All I wanted was just one tiny sign of approval, and apparently I had it… I just wanted to see it.”

The rising sun caused shadows to dance across the forest’s floor, and it reminded the witch of the tainted past that Snape had been so keen to hide from her.

He had not been a good man. She was certain that he had murdered, tortured, raped—the Death Eaters were among the cruelest, vilest humans alive, and if Voldemort’s reaction to Snape’s betrayal was any sign to go on, then it left no doubt in her mind that Snape had been one of the highest ranking, and certainly a favourite.

Yet knowing he was going to die, he had ordered his friends not to inform her of the books he had written. But then he left them for her? To save him.

She pushed it away from her mind almost immediately; she really did not want to think about that—it made her head spin trying to figure out how in the world she was supposed to save a dead man, a man who had not existed as part of the world for over seven years. It was ludicrous!

It is, isn’t it? the Snape voice asked rhetorically. There are no spells, incantations—

“Yes, I remember,” she huffed. “And do you know how crazy I feel now that my conscience has decided to adopt your voice?”

Awww… I’m sure Snape would feel loved.

Hermione snorted. “I just bet he would. Now could you please shut up? I’m supposed to be working!” It was at her oh-so-polite request that her Snape-conscience went silent and stayed that way, allowing her to finish her trek in peace, so she was able to gather copious amounts of quite a few ingredients.

Of course, the lack of talking from her confused mind did not give her complete ease, considering she had felt eyes watching her for over ten minutes. She knew exactly who was watching her and repressed her fight-or-flight response, refusing to be scared off by an over-grown lizard!

I dare you to say that to his face.

“I thought I told you to shut up,” the witch hissed angrily as she stepped out into the clearing, glancing around for signs of Athair, sighing in relief when she did not see a trace of him.

You do know that they can meld with your own shadow, right?

Hermione blinked. “They can?” She didn’t remember reading that. “How in the world do you—”

A massive shadow eclipsing her own and a loud sound of dmmmph as the dragon touched ground behind her cut off any retorts she was going to throw to the Snape-conscience.

Turning ever so slowly, so slowly that it probably appeared that she was moving in slow motion, she blinked up at the black shiny beast in front of her, jumping with a yelp of surprise when he lowered his head and bellowed at her, the heat from his nostrils causing her to stagger backwards a few steps.

Plucking up every ounce of bravery she could muster, she leaned forward and shouted right back at him. “I’m not bothering you!” She watched as the creature shook its head like a confused dog that had just gotten a good surprise whack; he was apparently shocked by her sudden boldness, and she used this moment of disorientation to gain more ground. “I have no plans on disturbing you or your home! I am only gathering ingredients for my class.”

When he tilted his head as though at a complete loss as to what she was saying, her blood boiled in her veins. “I know you understand every single word that I’m saying!”

The dragon drew himself up, spreading his wings wide before tucking them sharply back against his body.

Hermione could sense what was going to happen next and braced her feet slightly apart, waiting for the onslaught.

Athair lunged forward, thrusting his neck toward her, his face only a few feet from hers as he shrieked and blew hot breath from his flaring nostrils, sending her sprawling to the ground despite her efforts to stay upright. Shifting slightly, he swung his tail and slammed it to the ground just in front of her before lunging at her again.

The witch stiffened as his jaws snapped shut only mere inches from her face, and she could feel the heat coming from him in small puffs as he panted in exertion. Inside she was trembling, because she knew that he could easily shred her to tiny pieces; however, she was more worired that, instead of attacking, he kept his face so close to her body… so close, in fact, that when he inhaled deeply, her hair fluttered around her.

She suppressed the gasp of surprise that threatened to burst from her chest as she realized what he was doing.

He was taking in all of her scents, the smell of her sweat and the blood that oozed from the abrasions on her knees where she fell; he was inhaling her fear and the strange exhilaration that coursed through her as he sniffed near her face again, shifting to smell her hair before he moved his face farther down to her neck and chest. As he moved lower, Hermione blushed, but did not dare move; she did not want to risk angering him again.

She whimpered as she felt the warm puffs of breath against her calves, and could not stop a tiny cry of surprise as he abruptly moved his face back up and buried his snout beneath her armpit. She instinctively back away, wincing when he head-butted her again between her breast and closed arm, and when he repeated the move, it dawned on her that he was, indeed, trying to get her to move, but not away… He was trying to lift her—he wanted her to stand!

Shaky, she hauled herself to her feet and watched as the dragon drew himself up to, what she was sure, was his fullest height. And as he stared down at her, studying her still form, she suddenly had the feeling that he was sad and she could not, for the life of her, figure out why.

Without warning, Athair pushed off the ground, his wings spreading out as he took flight, leaving Hermione alone, confused, and feeling strangely empty.