Serpent's Shield
The crisp autumn wind swept through the castle grounds of Hogwarts, making the students pull their robes tighter as they walked between classes. In the shadowed corridors of the dungeons, however, the air was always cool, carrying a sense of mystery that kept most students away—unless, of course, they belonged to Slytherin.
This particular afternoon, Hermione Granger found herself straying closer to that territory than usual. A group of Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs had tailed her after Potions class, muttering insults just loud enough for her to hear. It started with the usual—know-it-all, teacher's pet, Mudblood—but today it was crueler.
"Bet your parents wish you were normal, huh, Granger?"
"Don't think any pure-blood would even waste a spell on someone like you."
Hermione clenched her books tightly to her chest, her cheeks burning with shame and anger. She was used to insults, but the words still stung. Just as she turned a corner, hoping to escape them, she collided with someone hard. Her books fell with a loud thud.
"Watch it!" she muttered instinctively, bending down to gather her things. But when she looked up, her breath hitched.
Draco Malfoy stood in front of her, flanked by Theodore Nott and Pansy Parkinson. For a moment, Hermione expected another round of taunts—something even nastier than before. But the words never came.
Instead, Draco's grey eyes scanned her and the group trailing behind her. His sneer faded into a calculating look, as if fitting puzzle pieces into place.
"Granger," Draco said softly, almost thoughtfully. "Are these... idiots bothering you?"
The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs froze, their smug expressions evaporating. No one had expected a Slytherin—least of all Malfoy—to come to Hermione's defense.
"None of your business, Malfoy," one boy stammered.
Draco stepped forward, tilting his head. "See, that's where you're wrong. If I catch anyone harassing her again..." He smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You'll find out how creative Slytherins can get when we're bored." The group scattered in a hurry, not daring to test his patience. Hermione slowly stood, dusting off her robes. "Why did you do that?" she asked, suspicious.
Draco arched a brow. "What, you thought only Gryffindors had a monopoly on saving people?"
Before she could respond, Pansy knelt to pick up the last of Hermione's books and shoved them into her arms. "You should've hexed them, Granger. Next time, aim for the nose." She gave a wink before sauntering off.
Theodore lingered for a moment, his expression unreadable. "You'd be surprised," he said quietly, "how many of us know what it's like to be treated like we don't belong." Then he followed the others into the shadows of the dungeon.
For a moment, Hermione stood frozen in place, trying to process what had just happened. Draco Malfoy—her longtime rival—and his friends had just... helped her? It didn't make sense. Or maybe it did. Slytherins looked after their interests, yes—but perhaps, she realized, they also understood the pain of being cast aside. As the days passed, Hermione noticed something strange. The insults in the hallways stopped. Those who had once sneered at her now avoided her gaze. And whenever she caught sight of a green-trimmed robe nearby, the faintest sense of security settled in her chest. One day, after another peaceful walk through the halls, Hermione rounded a corner and found Draco waiting for her. "Granger," he drawled, "we Slytherins don't offer protection for free." Hermione narrowed her eyes. "What do you want, Malfoy?" He grinned.
"Just one thing—keep doing better than the rest of us in every class. Can't have you slacking off now, can we?" She blinked, caught off guard by the unexpected compliment hidden beneath the sarcasm. "Consider it a deal," she said with a small, amused smile. As Draco turned and disappeared down the corridor, Hermione realized something surprising: in their own strange, sly way, the Slytherins had given her something she hadn't even known she needed—a reminder that she wasn't alone.
And maybe, just maybe, alliances weren't always forged in bravery and courage. Sometimes, they were born in quiet understanding—and protected in shadows.
In the weeks that followed, Hermione's world at Hogwarts subtly shifted. Where once she felt the weight of disdain pressing on her from all corners, now an odd sense of calm followed her. She knew that the Slytherins' protection wasn't loudly declared or openly acknowledged—no, their way was more subtle. And yet, it was effective.
The shift became apparent during a heated Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson when Professor Snape—who had taken over temporarily after the latest misfortune befalling the Defense teacher—swept his dark gaze across the class.
"We'll begin practical dueling today. Pairs will be assigned. No complaints."
Hermione waited, her wand clutched in her hand, feeling a knot form in her stomach. She hated dueling. Not because she wasn't good at it—she was—but because it always felt personal when it shouldn't be. Sure enough, when her name was called, she was paired with Ernie Macmillan, who had never missed an opportunity to make snide remarks about her being Muggle-born.
Ernie shot her a smug smile as he took his stance.
Before the duel could begin, however, a voice interrupted.
"Sir, I think there's been a mistake."
Draco Malfoy stood lazily at the side of the room, twirling his wand between his fingers. "Granger's supposed to be my partner."
Snape's expression darkened, but there was the faintest flicker of something like approval. "Is that so?"
Draco gave a slow, deliberate smirk. "You know how competitive we are in Slytherin. I wouldn't want her getting rusty before exams."
Snape's lip curled. "Very well. Granger, Malfoy—front and center."
Ernie scowled but didn't dare argue. Hermione felt a flicker of confusion as she moved to stand opposite Draco, who only gave her a small, knowing tilt of his head. They bowed to each other in perfect form before raising their wands.
"Don't hold back, Granger," Draco murmured as they circled each other. "Let's give them a show."
The duel was quick but intense. Spells flew between them, each blocked with skill and precision. Hermione had expected mockery or some underhanded trick, but to her surprise, Draco was...fair. He wasn't holding back, but he also wasn't trying to humiliate her. The way he countered her spells gave her valuable insights into areas she could improve.
When their duel ended, breathless and tied, Snape gave a curt nod.
"Acceptable," he muttered, which was high praise coming from him.
As they walked back to their seats, Hermione whispered, "Why did you do that?"
Draco glanced sideways at her. "You think I'd let Macmillan get away with dueling you? Please. He's a hack." Hermione bit back a laugh. "Is that it?" He smirked, but there was something else in his expression—something unspoken, like an unacknowledged understanding. "Like I said, Granger. Can't have you slacking."
As the months dragged on, winter settled over the castle, bringing with it snow-laden skies and biting cold winds. Hermione began to find the Slytherin presence around her more noticeable—and more comforting—than she had anticipated.
It wasn't just Draco. Theodore Nott had taken to sitting near her in the library, always quiet but reassuring in his presence. Pansy Parkinson gave sneering glares to anyone who so much as looked at Hermione the wrong way. Even Blaise Zabini, cool and aloof as ever, once casually informed a group of second-years that anyone who spread rumors about "Granger" would soon find themselves very, very unlucky. Hermione wasn't sure when the Slytherins had decided she was theirs to protect. But she found, to her surprise, that she didn't mind.
The real test of their strange alliance came one bitterly cold evening, deep in January. Hermione was returning to Gryffindor Tower from the library when she heard the familiar sneering voice of Ernie Macmillan. "I don't know why you even bother, Granger," he said, stepping out from the shadows with a few friends behind him. "All those books won't make you one of us."
Hermione stiffened, but before she could retort, a flash of green and silver caught her eye. Draco Malfoy, Theodore Nott, and Pansy Parkinson stepped from the darkness, their wands already in their hands. "I thought I told you," Draco said, his voice soft and deadly. "Stay away from her."
Ernie paled. "You—Malfoy, what's your game?" "No game," Theodore said, his expression cold. "Just a warning. This is your last one." Ernie's friends looked ready to argue, but Pansy stepped forward, her wand pointed directly at Ernie's chest. "Leave. Now."
Without another word, the group of boys slunk away, casting nervous glances over their shoulders. Draco turned to Hermione, arching an eyebrow. "You need to stop walking around alone, Granger. It's like you want to get hexed."
She gave him a small, wry smile. "And deprive you of the fun of saving me? Never."
Pansy rolled her eyes, but Hermione caught the hint of a grin on her face. Theodore gave her a brief nod before the group turned to leave.
But just before they disappeared into the shadows, Draco paused and glanced back at her.
"Granger," he called over his shoulder, "remember—if anyone messes with you, they mess with us."
And for the first time in a long while, Hermione felt something unexpected settle in her chest—safety.
The serpents of Slytherin had wrapped their coils around her, not to constrict, but to protect. And in their shadows, she had found a kind of belonging she had never thought possible.
As winter melted into spring, Hermione found her days growing stranger—and better. The silent truce between her and the Slytherins had become something more tangible, a protective alliance that felt almost... comfortable. She hadn't asked for their help, and they never explained why they offered it. Yet there they were, like a silent fortress, always between her and any cruelty that Hogwarts threw her way.
Of course, that didn't mean everything was easy.
One day in the Great Hall, Ron Weasley slammed his goblet down on the table with a loud thud.
"Hermione," he whispered fiercely, leaning toward her across the table. "Why do you keep hanging around with them?"
Harry, sitting beside him, glanced up from his meal with a wary look. "We've noticed it too. You've been spending a lot of time with Malfoy and the rest of the snakes."
Hermione sighed, setting her spoon down and pinching the bridge of her nose. She knew this was coming sooner or later.
"Ron, Harry... it's not like I'm friends with them. It's more complicated than that."
"Complicated?" Ron sputtered, his ears going red. "What's complicated about it? They're Slytherins! They've hated us for years, Hermione! Malfoy's—he's Malfoy!"
Harry's voice was quieter but no less worried. "What if they're using you? What if it's some kind of trick?"
She felt the familiar stab of frustration in her chest. "You don't understand," she said, more sharply than she intended. "They've... helped me. When no one else did."
"That's what we're supposed to do!" Ron said, his voice rising. "We're your friends!"
Hermione leaned in, her voice low and controlled. "Do you know how many times people have called me 'Mudblood' when you weren't around? Or whispered things behind my back? Do you know who stopped them?"
Ron looked as though he wanted to argue, but Hermione's words froze him in place. She saw guilt flicker across Harry's face too, and for a moment, they both seemed at a loss for words.
"They don't treat me like a charity case," Hermione continued, her voice softer now. "They treat me like I can stand on my own—but they make sure no one tries to pull me down."
Ron sat back, crossing his arms with a grumble. "Still seems dodgy, if you ask me."
Harry didn't argue further, though his frown lingered. "Just... be careful, Hermione."
Hermione gave a small nod, though a part of her wanted to say, I already am.
That night, as she walked back from the library, Hermione's thoughts weighed heavy on her mind. The moonlight filtered through the high castle windows, casting silver streaks along the stone corridors. The familiar ache of loneliness tugged at her chest—no matter how many people stood beside her, she often felt as if she were balancing between two worlds, never fully belonging in either.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a voice from the shadows.
"Long night?"
Draco Malfoy stepped out from around the corner, his hands tucked casually into the pockets of his robes. He leaned against the wall, looking far too relaxed for someone who had been caught lingering near the library at midnight.
"Something like that," Hermione replied, adjusting the strap of her bag on her shoulder.
He studied her for a moment, his gaze sharp and thoughtful. "Weasley giving you grief about us?"
Hermione blinked, startled by how easily he had guessed. "How did you—?"
"Please," Draco said with a smirk. "The moment you stop following Weasley around like a lost puppy, he's bound to throw a tantrum."
Hermione rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at the corners of her mouth. "It's not a tantrum," she muttered, though she didn't sound convinced.
Draco tilted his head, his expression losing some of its usual smugness. "Look, Granger, if it makes things easier, you can tell them you're not 'hanging out' with us. We'll understand."
She hesitated. "Is that what you want?"
He shrugged. "Doesn't matter what I want. What matters is what you need."
The sincerity in his voice caught her off guard. She wasn't sure what to make of it—Malfoy wasn't exactly known for being selfless, but lately, she was learning that there was more to him than the sneering façade he wore in public.
"Thanks," she said softly.
For a moment, they stood there in silence, two unlikely allies caught between the old expectations of the world and the strange reality they were carving out for themselves.
Then Draco gave her a lazy grin. "Come on, Granger. You'll get yourself in trouble wandering around alone at night."
"You say that like you aren't doing the same thing," she quipped, falling into step beside him.
Draco smirked. "The difference is, I don't get caught."
By the time they reached the split in the corridor that led toward Gryffindor Tower, Hermione felt lighter than she had all day. She glanced at Draco, who gave her a quick nod before turning to head back toward the dungeons.
"Malfoy," she called after him.
He paused, glancing over his shoulder. "Yeah?"
"Why do you and the others help me?"
For a moment, he looked as though he might deflect the question with sarcasm. But then he gave her a look so genuine, so quietly serious, that it left her breathless.
"Because," he said simply, "you're worth protecting."
Before she could respond, he disappeared into the shadows, his robes trailing behind him like smoke.
And in that quiet corridor, with the moonlight spilling across the floor, Hermione smiled. For the first time in a long while, she felt something other than loneliness.
She felt seen. She felt safe. And, perhaps most unexpectedly of all, she felt like she belonged—right there, in the space between the lions and the days flowed into each other, and Hermione's strange, unspoken alliance with the Slytherins solidified. It was subtle—no dramatic public declarations, no flashy shows of loyalty—but it was present in small, steady ways that reassured her more than any grand gesture ever could.
When her notes went missing one morning before Charms class, Blaise Zabini "just happened" to have a fresh set of them copied neatly in his elegant handwriting. When someone made a snide remark as she passed, Pansy's voice would cut through the air like a whip, making them shut up before they finished their sentence. And when Peeves the poltergeist tried to ambush Hermione in a stairwell with ink-filled balloons, Theo Nott appeared out of nowhere, wand at the ready. The balloons exploded—on Peeves.
"Consider it a tactical diversion," Theo said with a rare, quiet grin as the poltergeist flew off, screeching.
It was strange, Hermione thought, but it was also... nice.