The Serpent's Bride

Hermione Present 

The world had narrowed to just Hermione and Pita. All the fear, the uncertainty, the lingering shadows of the palace faded away, leaving only the warmth of their connection. Pita was safe, nestled in her arms, and in that moment, nothing else mattered. Pita's happiness was infectious, radiating outwards and filling Hermione with a joy so profound it brought tears to her eyes.

They sat nestled in the soft grass of the Weasley's front lawn, bathed in the warm morning sunlight. Hermione cradled Pita in her lap, her arms wrapped tightly around the small girl, just as she had countless times before. She could feel the steady rhythm of Pita's heartbeat against her chest, smell the sweet scent of her hair, press gentle kisses to her forehead. Time seemed to stand still, the world melting away the moment Pita had come bouncing down the stairs of the front porch. Hermione had instinctively dropped to her knees, and Pita had launched herself into her arms, knocking her off balance. They had remained like that, intertwined, clinging to each other as if they could never let go.

"I've missed you so much, sweet girl," Hermione whispered through her tears. She hadn't been separated from Pita for more than a few hours since she had found her seven years ago. Needless to say, this past week had felt like an eternity.

"I've missed you too," Pita murmured, her small hand reaching up to stroke Hermione's cheek.

Ginny and Molly had given them space, allowing them to reconnect in private, but Hermione could feel their presence, their loving eyes watching from across the lawn. Glancing up, she noticed a tear tracing a path down Molly's cheek. Hermione stood, pulling Pita up with her, and approached the two women.

"Mrs. Weasley, I don't have the words to thank you," Hermione choked out, her voice thick with emotion. "What you have done for Pita..." She struggled to speak, her throat constricting.

"Oh my dear," Molly replied, wiping the tear from her cheek. "I have loved having Pita here, she is such a good girl, and so helpful!" Molly's face beamed as she glanced at Pita, who perked up at the praise.

"And please, call me Molly," she added warmly.

Hermione nodded, a lump forming in her throat. "Thank you, Molly."

"Breakfast is nearly ready!" Molly declared, wiping her hands on her apron.

Suddenly, Pita's excited voice broke through. "Hermione, Draco said he would take me for a ride on his broom if it was okay with you, can I do it? Please, please, please!"

Hermione's eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "Draco?" she repeated. "The prince wants to take you on his broom? When?"

"Now!" Pita responded, her eyes darting towards the porch.

Hermione followed her gaze, her eyes landing on the familiar wizard leaning against the railing. Draco, his platinum hair gleaming in the sunlight, stood with his arms crossed, a subtle smile playing on his lips. His eyes were bright, his dark attire less formal than usual.

Pita, unable to contain her excitement, ran towards him, Hermione trailing close behind.

"Hello," Hermione greeted him with a smile.

"Hello," he replied, his smile widening. "You look beautiful today."

Hermione glanced down at her simple cream dress and her wild, untamed hair. "Thank you," she responded, unable to suppress the warmth that spread through her.

She noticed a sleek broom leaning against the house behind him. "Are you pretty good on that thing?" she asked, her eyes drawn to the electric silver of his gaze.

"Yes," he confirmed with a small nod.

Hermione turned to Pita, who was gazing up at her with pleading eyes. "Okay then, a short ride," she conceded.

Pita bounced on her toes as Draco summoned his broom with a flick of his wrist, never breaking eye contact with Hermione. He stepped off the porch, broom in hand, and extended his other hand towards Pita.

"You ready, little one?" he asked, crouching down to her level.

"YES!" Pita squealed, taking his hand.

In a flash, they were airborne, Draco effortlessly lifting Pita onto the broom in front of him. With a final glance at Hermione, they soared into the sky, Pita's giggles and squeals echoing through the air. Hermione watched them disappear into the vast expanse of blue, her heart swelling in her chest. She couldn't help but laugh, the sound light and carefree, a release of all the tension and fear that had been weighing her down.

Ginny, Molly, and Hermione bustled around the cozy kitchen, setting the table for breakfast. A mouthwatering spread of sizzling eggs, plump sausages, and warm, home baked pastries filled the air with a comforting aroma. 

Hermione lifted a framed photo from the counter, her curiosity piqued. It was of Ginny, younger than she was now, beaming at the center of a boisterous group of six boys. The animated image swirled with life, her brothers playfully jostling her, their laughter echoing through the frame.

Ginny joined her, peering over her shoulder and pointing at each boy in turn. "Bill, Charlie, Percy, George, Fred, and Ron, who you already know," she explained.

"Where are they all now?" Hermione asked.

"Bill and Percy work at the Rusty Wrench with Dad," Ginny replied, "and George, Fred, and Ron are soldiers in the King's Guard."

"And Charlie?" Hermione noticed a flicker of sadness in Ginny's eyes as she glanced towards the kitchen where her mother was busy preparing breakfast.

"Charlie died... last year..." Ginny whispered, her voice heavy with grief.

"Oh Ginny, I'm so sorry," Hermione whispered back, her heart aching.

"Mum still cries whenever his name is mentioned," Ginny explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "He was... a part of the rebellion... The Order of the Phoenix... he was discovered and... the king..." Her words caught in her throat, the unspoken ending hanging heavy in the air.

Hermione nodded solemnly, placing the photo back on the counter. She pulled Ginny into a comforting hug, her heart hurting for the Weasley.

"He must have been very brave," Hermione murmured into Ginny's ear.

"He was," Ginny whispered back, squeezing Hermione tighter.

Molly bustled into the room, her face etched with concern. "Everything okay?" she asked, her eyes flitting between the two girls.

"Yes, Mum," Ginny answered, quickly wiping a stray tear from her cheek. "We were just wondering... how often the prince has been coming by?"

Hermione's eyes darted between Ginny and Molly, intrigued by the question.

"He's been here every day since Pita arrived," Molly explained, a warm smile spreading across her face. "Helping around the house, making sure Pita was comfortable and adjusted. It almost feels like the old days when Ron, Harry, and Draco were just boys, running around and causing all sorts of trouble."

"Harry?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, yes, Harry Potter," Molly replied. "Him and his father have a home nearby. The boys were inseparable growing up. Still are, to my knowledge. But after Charlie..." She stumbled over her son's name, "Well, after last year, I wasn't seeing as much of the prince. It's nice to have him around again."

“I’m sure you’ll meet Harry soon enough.” Ginny added. 

"Now, now, enough chatter for now," Molly interrupted, turning towards the kitchen with a gentle smile. "Could you two give me a hand with one final thing in the kitchen?”

Fifteen minutes later, Draco and Pita returned from their airborne adventure, their laughter echoing through the house. Draco carried Pita on his back, her face flushed and her giggles echoing through the hallway. They chatted animatedly, Pita's windblown hair and sparkling eyes betraying her exhilaration. Hermione watched them, her heart swelling with warmth at the easy camaraderie between them. Draco's genuine affection for Pita was evident, and Pita clearly adored him in return.

Breakfast was a lively affair. Pita, still buzzing from the broom ride, dominated the conversation, recounting every twist and turn of their flight with breathless enthusiasm. Draco listened patiently, interjecting with praise for Pita's natural balance and bravery.

Hermione leaned towards Draco and whispered, "Thank you."

He nodded, his eyes twinkling as he glanced at Pita. "She's a great kid, you've done a wonderful job with her," he replied warmly.

No one had said anything like that to her before, and a wave of unexpected emotion washed over her. Her eyes welled up, and she blinked back the tears that threatened to spill. She had cried more in the last 24 hours than she had in years, and she barely recognized this vulnerable, emotional version of herself.

"Thanks," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion.

"I know a way you can truly thank me..." Draco murmured, his voice a low rumble in her ear.

She smiled, tilting her head playfully. "Oh really? How's that?"

"Let me take you for a ride," he requested, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Hmmmm..." Hermione pretended to consider, tapping her finger against her lips. Draco's gaze flickered to her mouth before returning to her eyes.

"Okay," she finally agreed. 

"Really?" Draco's face lit up.

"Sure, why not," she replied with a shrug.

"Pita will probably want another ride after me," she added.

"Pita can have as many as she wants," he assured her with a smile. "I have cleared my schedule today."

He stood and extended his hand towards Hermione, who took it without hesitation. They excused themselves from the table, and disappeared through the front door, leaving Ginny, Molly, and Pita to finish their breakfast.

Draco positioned Hermione on the broom in front of him. As they prepared for take off, a flicker of apprehension ran through her. But Draco, sensing her hesitation, pulled her back against his chest, his strong legs bracketing her hips. His muscular arms wrapped around her, holding her securely against him.

"You ready?" he whispered in her ear, his warm breath sending shivers down her spine.

She resisted the urge to lean further into him. The scent of pine and citrus that clung to him filled her senses.

"Yes..." she replied hesitantly.

With a gentle push, they lifted off the ground, soaring into the sky. They weaved through the air, heading towards the castle. From this vantage point, it was breathtaking, its towers gleaming in the sunlight. The lush landscape stretched out beneath them, a mesh of green fields and sparkling rivers. They flew for a long time, Hermione silently absorbing the beauty of the kingdom, a sense of wonder filling her.

Finally, they came to a halt, hovering in mid air. Hermione turned to face Draco, Her back still pressed into his chest. Their faces were inches apart, their bodies intertwined. She gazed into his silver eyes, a strange fluttering in her stomach, a feeling she had never experienced before. She reached out and placed her hands over his, giving them a reassuring squeeze.

"This is so beautiful, thank you for showing me this," she whispered, her voice filled with awe.

His eyes darted between hers, occasionally flickering to her lips.

She leaned closer, a silent invitation. When he didn't move, she gently pressed her lips to his. His eyes widened in surprise before fluttering closed as he returned the kiss. It was sweet and gentle, his lips warm and soft against hers. She longed to touch him, to feel his hands on her, but the precariousness of their position held her back. He traced the seam of her lips with his tongue, and she parted her mouth, deepening the kiss. It was unlike any kiss she had ever experienced, filled with a slow burning heat that sent shivers down her spine. He tasted like mint, a refreshing contrast to the warmth of his mouth. He shifted one hand from the broom and placed it on her stomach, pulling her closer, deepening the kiss even further. Time seemed to stand still, and she wished the moment would last forever, but she knew they should probably head back soon. 

Hermione gently pulled away, breaking the kiss but not the embrace. Draco, seemingly mesmerized, moved his hand to her hair, tenderly brushing away the stray curls that had fallen across her face. His silver eyes, filled with tenderness, roamed over her features as if committing them to memory. He exhaled slowly, a shaky breath that betrayed his inner turmoil.

"I am trying so hard to stay out of your head right now," he confessed, his voice barely above a whisper. "I... you... fuck, I can't even talk..."

"Your heart is racing," she observed, feeling the rapid beat against her back.

"Yeah…” he chuckled breathlessly. 

She smiled, his vulnerability disarming her once again. 

"Please win..." he whispered, his eyes filled with desperation.

"What?" she asked.

"Please win the selection," he breathed, burying his face in her neck, his voice muffled by her hair.

She was taken aback. His words hung heavy in the air, their implications echoing in her mind. She didn't respond, unsure what to say. The prince was asking her to win his hand in marriage. It was a whirlwind of emotions, and she needed a moment to process it all. 

She felt his warm breath on her skin, the steady beat of his heart against her back, and a strange sense of calm settled over her. In that moment, suspended between the earth and the sky, held in the arms of a man she was only beginning to understand, she realized that marrying him might not be such a terrible fate.

******

Hermione watched the sunset paint the sky in fiery hues of orange and purple through her bedroom window. The day had been a whirlwind of joy and laughter, spent soaking up Pita, Draco and the Weasleys. They had played games in the sprawling garden, shared stories and laughter over another delicious feast, and simply enjoyed each other's company. Hermione couldn't remember a more perfect day. But as the light faded, so did the carefree atmosphere, leaving a lingering dread for the night ahead and the daunting task of her Occlumency training.

She changed out of her cheerful cream dress and into practical brown trousers and a black jumper, concealing it all beneath her dark cloak, to better blend into the night. She secured her hair in a tight braid and ventured out into the cool evening air, heading towards the familiar cave. By the time she reached the field, a frosty chill had settled over the landscape, and she regretted not wearing warmer clothes. An eerie fog hung heavy in the air, obscuring the surroundings and amplifying the silence. The field was deserted, the usual guards nowhere to be seen. A sense of unease prickled her skin as she approached the tent and slipped inside.

The fire crackled merrily in the hearth, casting dancing shadows on the canvas walls. The skeleton mask sat at a small table, a bottle of whiskey and a half filled glass within reach. His brown eyes, intense and unwavering, met hers across the dimly lit space.

"Do you ever take that mask off?" she asked sharply, the sight of it was overwhelmingly irritating tonight. "How do you even drink whiskey with that thing on?"

He didn't respond, simply gesturing towards the chair opposite him. Hermione moved slowly, her apprehension growing with each step. She sat down, crossing her arms defensively.

"There's going to be another trial tomorrow," his distorted voice grated on her nerves. "I'm not sure what it will be, but we need to make some progress tonight. I realize now that my methods last night were a bit... intense... so we're going to try something different." He paused, his gaze unwavering. "You have a brilliant mind, there's no denying that, but it's chaotic, frantic even, filled with so much rage and trauma that it's blocking you from seizing control of your magic."

She was momentarily taken aback. Was he... complimenting her?

"We need to sort through the trauma you've buried," he continued, his voice regaining its usual coldness. "Address it, acknowledge it, and then find a safe place to store it."

"I don't understand..." she murmured, her confusion growing.

"We need to revisit some things that are holding you back, things that are paralyzing you from moving forward."

She had spent years burying her pain, shoving it down so deep that it rarely surfaced. But when her rage erupted, those suppressed memories and emotions would explode, blinding her and hindering her control over her magic. It was what had happened when her magic had lashed out at the king.

"It's going to be difficult," the skeleton mask warned, "but it needs to be done."

"I... I can't..." she stammered, fear constricting her chest.

"It's the only way," he insisted. "If you don't master this, you will endanger not only yourself, but anyone you hold dear. Do you think that if the king discovered you've been meeting with the resistance, he would grant you mercy? Believe you were an unwilling participant? No. He will kill you, after he kills the people you love and forces you to watch. He has done it before."

Hermione's skin prickled with fear. She knew he was right. The king was ruthless, and his cruelty knew no bounds.

"Okay," she whispered, steeling herself for the ordeal.

The skeleton mask stood and dragged his chair around the table, placing it directly in front of her. He was so close that their knees touched, and she fought the urge to recoil.

"Are you ready?" he asked, his voice, though still distorted, was softer than usual.

"Yes," she replied, her voice barely a whisper.

She felt him enter her mind, but this time it wasn't the violent intrusion of the previous night. It was a gentle caress, a soft touch that eased its way into her consciousness.

"I want you to think of your first memory of fear," he instructed.

She took a deep breath and delved into the depths of her memory, back to her first week in the seventh ring. She was so small, so lost, crying for her parents, searching for them in a sea of cold, unfamiliar faces. She saw herself, a tiny, terrified four-year-old, crying in the dirt, alone and abandoned. She watched as her younger self stumbled upon the shimmering shield, reaching out to touch it, only to be thrown back by a jolt of magic, her small body lying unconscious for hours.

"Okay, good," the skeleton mask coaxed. "Move to a time when you felt helpless."

She relived the horror of being tied to the stake in the center of the square, the crowd a blur of faces, the agonizing pain of the whip tearing through her young skin. She lay there, broken and bleeding, convinced that she was going to die.

"Now, a time you felt pain," the skeleton mask ordered.

Hot breath on her neck, the unbuckling of a belt, putrid breath, a sharp pain between her legs. Dolohov’s dark eyes devouring her as she screamed beneath him, the smile creeping across his face as her vision began to darken at the edges. She was only thirteen. 

She trembled violently in her chair, tears streaming down her face as she was forced to confront memory after memory, each one a fresh wound. The pain was overwhelming, a torrent of emotions that threatened to drown her. There were memories she had suppressed, buried so deep that she had forgotten them, surfacing now with agonizing clarity. She sobbed uncontrollably, gasping for breath between waves of nausea. Finally, unable to bear it any longer, she leaned over and vomited, her body wracked with sobs.

The Skeleton Mask instinctively reached out to steady her as she retched, but she slapped his hand away.

"DON'T," she barked, her voice raw with pain and vulnerability.

She slowly sat up, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand. He wordlessly vanished the mess at her feet, a small act of consideration that did not go unnoticed.

"Okay," he said, his voice regaining its usual detachment. "Now…I want you to imagine a place that brings you peace."

She closed her eyes, and the Forbidden Forest materialized behind her eyelids. It was a summer night, the air alive with the chirping of crickets and the distant murmur of a flowing stream. She could almost smell the damp earth and the fragrant pine needles.

"Okay, I want you to dig holes," he instructed.

She obeyed, her hands moving frantically, digging into the soft earth. She dug dozens of holes, the imagined sensation of cool soil beneath her fingers oddly grounding.

"Place the memories in the holes," he directed.

One by one, she deposited the painful memories into the freshly dug holes. They swirled within, dark and menacing, threatening to escape and consume her.

"Okay good…I want you to think of happy memories now."

Her mind struggled to conjure them, for they were fewer and farther between. But they existed. She remembered her parents singing "Happy Birthday" as she blew out the candles on a cake. She remembered Maggie, her gentle arms lifting her from the dirt, and most vividly, she remembered Pita – their laughter echoing through the woods, the joy of teaching her to read and fight. So much of her happiness revolved around Pita.

"Okay, hold those memories in your hands, and imagine them as seeds," the Skeleton Mask instructed.

The memories in her hands transformed into glowing golden seeds, radiating warmth and light.

"Place them in the holes," his voice echoed through her imagined forest.

She dropped the seeds into the holes, one by one. As the last seed fell into place, the ground began to tremble and shake. Golden saplings sprouted from the holes, growing with astonishing speed, their branches reaching towards the sky, their leaves shimmering with a thousand colors. They enveloped the dark shadows of her painful memories, transforming them into something beautiful. The trees grew taller and taller, their golden canopy casting a warm glow over the forest floor.

Hermione fell to her knees in the dirt, overwhelmed by the beauty and the sense of peace that enveloped her. The hollowness that had always resided within her began to fill with a golden light, a warmth that spread through her entire body - her entire soul. She looked down and saw that her own skin was glowing, mirroring the radiance of the trees. It was as if the forest had become a part of her, its strength and resilience flowing through her veins.

She felt lighter, freer than she had in years. The trauma, the pain, the fear – it was still there, but it no longer held the same power over her. It had been transformed, woven into the fabric of her being, a part of her story, but not defining her in the same way it had before. 

She slowly opened her eyes, blinking against the soft light of the fire. The skeleton mask was watching her intently, his brown eyes more alive than she had ever seen them. They held a depth of emotion that she hadn't noticed before.

She felt him enter her mind again, but this time, he wasn’t gentle. 

PUSH ME OUT, he demanded, his voice echoing in her mind.

She focused on the golden light of the forest within her chest, the warmth and strength it provided. With a surge of determination, she thrust it outwards, creating a shimmering golden shield that encased her mind. It burned brightly, a beacon of defiance, before hardening into an impenetrable fortress, protecting her from the intruder. She felt a surge of power as she forcefully expelled him from her mind, severing the connection completely.

The force of the expulsion threw him back against his chair. His eyes widened momentarily, and then she watched as his eyes lifted beneath the mask. She could tell that he was smiling. He leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

"Well done." 

She sat in the chair, her chest heaving with the remnants of her emotional upheaval. Beneath her skin, her magic thrummed with a newfound vibrancy. It called to her, beckoning, closer and more accessible than ever before. With a sense of wonder, she extended her hand, palm upturned, and summoned her magic. A soft glow enveloped her hand, and a small, flame like light flickered to life in her palm, dancing across her fingertips. Her eyes widened in amazement as she gazed at the mesmerizing display of raw power. She glanced at the skeleton mask, who was watching the magical bloom with an intensity that mirrored her own. With a gentle clench of her fist, she extinguished the flames, the light fading as quickly as it had appeared.

Their eyes met across the dimly lit tent, a silent exchange passing between them. She realized that the mask no longer held the same eerie power over her. She couldn't quite comprehend the complex emotions swirling within her, but gratitude towards the leader of the resistance was at the forefront. He had guided her through a harrowing journey, forcing her to confront her deepest fears and emerge stronger on the other side. A newfound respect bloomed within her, replacing the apprehension and animosity she had once felt.

She stood and walked towards the tent flap.

"See you tomorrow," she said, pausing at the exit.

"No need to return," he replied, his voice surprisingly gentle. "I am satisfied with your progress. Just maintain your shields around the king and his army, and continue to hone your skills.”

A wave of unexpected sadness washed over her. She hadn't anticipated feeling this way.

"I guess this is goodbye then," she said softly.

He nodded silently, his masked face unreadable.

She hesitated, then turned back to face him. "Thank you," she whispered.

Then, she turned and slipped out into the cool night air, leaving behind the tent, the masked man, and the lingering warmth of the fire. 

********

The stone walls of the dungeon ballroom seemed to exude a chill that seeped into Hermione's bones as she and Ginny descended the stairs. The king had decreed that the next trial would take place this very night, just as the Skeleton Mask had predicted. Hermione, dressed in a form fitting black dress that she knew would displease the king, walked with a newfound confidence, her chin held high. Ginny had styled her hair in an elegant updo and helped her apply makeup. 

The details of the trial remained a mystery, adding to the tension that hung heavy in the dimly lit ballroom. The ten remaining contestants huddled together, their faces etched with fear and uncertainty. Their sponsors, gathered around a large table, drank merrily, seemingly oblivious to the apprehension that filled the air. Ginny, however, remained steadfastly by Hermione's side, their hands clasped tightly together.

On the raised dais at the back of the room, the royal family sat in stony silence. Draco's gaze was fixed on Hermione, his silver eyes filled with worry. Beside him, Theo watched Ginny with equal concern. Hermione observed a silent exchange between the two, Theo leaning over to whisper something in Draco's ear. Draco nodded solemnly, his gaze never leaving Hermione.

Hermione's eyes scanned the room, taking in the ten small markers scattered across the floor. 

"Sponsors, take your seats at the table," the king's booming voice echoed through the hall, shattering the tense silence.

Ginny squeezed Hermione's hand reassuringly before making her way towards the table, joining the other sponsors. Someone offered her a goblet of wine, but she declined with a shake of her head, her eyes fixed on Hermione.

"Contestants, please find your way to your own marker on the floor," the king instructed.

Hermione watched as the girls hesitantly moved towards their designated spots. She recognized their faces, but apart from Angelina, she had forgotten most of their names. She chose a marker furthest from the dais, seeking to distance herself from the royal family.

"It's important for the witch chosen to marry my son to be bright," the king declared, his voice laced with arrogance. "We want to ensure that the offspring are not only powerful and brave, but intelligent as well. In this task, we will see how well you can use your wits... under pressure."

Hermione observed the reactions of the other contestants. Some shoulders slumped, others trembled with fear. She wondered how many still wanted to be here after witnessing the brutal torture of Everleigh in the first trial. Only a few stood tall, their resolve unwavering. She surmised that many, if not all, of them lacked formal education. Those who could read and write were likely self taught or had been fortunate enough to have literate parents or caretakers. 

"Lower the cages!" the king's voice boomed through the cavernous ballroom, echoing off the stone walls.

Hermione's gaze snapped upwards, taking in the immense height of the ceiling for the first time. A wave of fear washed over her as she watched ten shimmering glass boxes descend from the shadowy heights. They glittered ominously in the dim light, slowly lowering until each contestant was completely encased. The glass box, or cage as the king had called it, was surprisingly spacious, almost the size of a small bedroom. A chair and a table materialized before her with a soft whoosh. Glancing around, she saw identical setups appearing in the other boxes.

Her eyes darted across the table, taking in the assortment of objects: several leather bound books, vials filled with colorful liquids, a small cauldron, and other unfamiliar tools and ingredients. Confusion mixed with her fear as she tried to decipher the purpose of this bizarre display.

Suddenly, the air around the chair shimmered and distorted, coalescing into a small, recognizable form. Hermione gasped, her blood turning to ice.

"Pita!" she screamed, rushing towards the chair and falling to her knees before it. "Pita! What's going on? What's wrong?! Are you alright?!"

Pita moaned weakly, her eyes fluttering open. "Hermione?" she rasped, her voice barely a whisper. "Hermione, I don't feel good."

Hermione leaped to her feet, her heart pounding. She frantically surveyed the other boxes. Each contestant was huddled around their own chair, each occupied by a new person. Panic and fear mirrored in their eyes as they assessed what Herimione assumed to be their loved ones.

Her gaze flew to the dais. The prince was on his feet, his hands clenched into fists, his brow furrowed in confusion as he looked at Hermione and Pita.

The king's voice, laced with cruel satisfaction, cut through the tense silence. "Each of them has been given a substance that will result in death if you don't quickly brew an antidote. You have all the information and ingredients before you. I suggest you move quickly..."

Hermione's fury surged, but she swallowed her rage, unwilling to further frighten Pita.

"Hermione?" Pita whimpered, her voice barely audible. "Am I going to die?"

Hermione knelt beside her, gently cupping her small, pale face. "No, sweet girl," she said with fierce determination. "I'm going to make you feel better. Everything is going to be fine."

A loud crack echoed through the hall, and Hermione's head snapped up. The prince stood outside her box, his wand raised, a torrent of magic exploding from its tip. He battered against the glass walls, his magic deflecting harmlessly, his roars of frustration echoing through the room. Hermione had never seen him so unhinged, so consumed by rage. His usually impeccable hair was disheveled, his silver eyes blazing with an almost manic energy. After a moment, he forgot his wand and began hammering the glass with his bare fists.

"Detain him!" the king screamed, rising from his throne.

Hermione tore her gaze away from the chaotic scene. She had to focus. Pita needed her.

Distantly, she heard the other contestants scrambling through their ingredients, their frantic cries and the clatter of falling objects filling the air.

"I can't read!" several girls wailed in despair.

Hermione closed her eyes, taking a deep breath to quell the panic rising within her. She visualized her golden forest, drawing strength from its tranquil power. She erected her mental shields, and a wave of calmness washed over her, silencing the chaos around her. When she opened her eyes, she was laser focused, determined to save Pita.

She carefully observed Pita's symptoms. Her skin was clammy and burning with fever, her eyes glazed and unfocused. Her pulse raced beneath Hermione's fingertips.

"Hermione..." Pita mumbled deliriously. "It's so bright." She glanced around the dimly lit box. "Is the sun rising? We should head into the village early today."

Hermione began frantically flipping through the pages of the first book, her eyes scanning for any symptoms that matched Pita's. She discarded it and moved onto the next, her concentration unwavering. It wasn't until the fourth book that she found a promising entry.

"Hermione..." Pita cried, her voice laced with fear. "I can't feel my arms and legs... my whole body is tingling..."

Hermione continued reading, her heart sinking as she recognized the symptoms.

Poison: The Serpent's Slumber

Symptoms:

• Fever
• Delirium
• Tingling and numbness in limbs
• Increased heart rate
• Darkening of the tongue
• Nausea and vomiting
• Loss of consciousness
• Death

As if on cue, Pita hunched over and vomited. Hermione rushed to her side, gently lifting her from the chair and laying her on the floor. She was barely conscious now.

"You're going to be okay, sweet girl," Hermione whispered, her voice filled with desperate hope.

"I'm so scared," Pita whimpered.

Hermione gently pried open Pita's mouth, her breath catching in her throat. Pita's tongue was an alarming shade of black. She laid Pita back down and returned to the book, her eyes scanning the page for the antidote.

Antidote:

• Mandrake root
• Three drops of salamander blood
• A sprig of dittany
• Three drops of dragon's blood
• A pinch of powdered unicorn horn

Brewing notes:

• Mix and administer orally within thirty minutes of ingestion.

With a surge of adrenaline, Hermione gathered the labeled ingredients, relief flooding her when she found them all present. She meticulously combined them in the cauldron, her hands steady despite the turmoil within her. The potion bubbled and hissed, transforming into a shimmering blue liquid. She filled a vial and rushed back to Pita's side. Gently lifting Pita's head, she poured the antidote into her mouth.

The agonizing wait began. Hermione held her breath, her eyes fixed on Pita, praying for any sign of improvement. Around her, the ballroom was a cacophony of screams and sobs as other contestants struggled to save their loved ones.

Slowly, color returned to Pita's face, and the fevered heat radiating from her skin subsided.

"Hermione?" Pita croaked, her voice weak but gaining strength.

Tears of relief streamed down Hermione's face. She had done it. Pita was going to be okay.

She cradled Pita in her arms, her heart aching as she watched the other contestants. Some were still frantically brewing, while others had given up, their cries of despair echoing through the hall as they held their dying loved ones. The cruelty of the trial, the king's blatant disregard for life, ignited a fresh wave of fury within her. She would not let this stand. She would fight back. 

*****

She sprinted through the moonlit forest in her black dress, her bare feet pounding against the uneven terrain. Thorns and sharp stones tore at her skin, leaving a trail of bloody scratches, but she barely registered the pain. Her mind was consumed by a furious storm of rage and fear, fueled by the horrifying events she had just witnessed.

Ginny had taken an exhausted Pita back to the safety of her home, promising to watch over her throughout the night. Hermione hated to be parted from Pita, but also wanted her as far away from the castle and its sinister ruler as possible.

Bursting from the treeline, she stumbled into the clearing, the sight before her was starkly different from the eerie emptiness of her previous visit. The field buzzed with activity, illuminated by a multitude of dancing lights. Order members, their faces obscured by masks, practiced dueling techniques, their wands flashing with impressive speed and precision.

Hermione marched towards the nearest figure, a witch with a plain black mask concealing her features.

"I need to speak with the Skeleton Mask," she demanded, her voice breathless and urgent.

"He's not here..." the woman responded, her voice laced with confusion. "Who are you?"

"Can you get a message to him?" Hermione pleaded. "Tell him it's urgent... that Hermione needs to speak with him right away. I'll be waiting in the tent." She turned and strode towards the familiar tent before the witch could respond.

An hour crawled by, each minute stretching into an eternity as she paced the confines of the tent, her anxiety growing with every passing moment. Finally, the flap burst open, and the Skeleton Mask entered, his movements hurried and his usually stoic demeanor ruffled.

"What is it?" he asked, his voice laced with concern.

She had expected anger, annoyance at her intrusion, but his concern caught her off guard. He seemed genuinely worried, his brown eyes searching hers with an intensity that belied his mask.

"I need training," she declared, her voice trembling slightly. "I need a wand... I want to join the Order."

The Skeleton Mask seemed taken aback. He paused, his head tilting slightly as he considered her request. "And why is that?" he finally asked, his voice calm but curious.

"Because I'm going to kill Lucius Malfoy," she stated, her voice filled with a chilling determination. The anger that had been simmering within her erupted at the mere mention of the king's name.

The Skeleton Mask remained silent, his gaze unwavering as he assessed her. After a long moment, he gave a curt nod.

"Welcome to the Order of the Phoenix," he said, his voice grave but welcoming.