She was halfway through her walk when a movement caught her eye.
A flicker—subtle, almost imperceptible—at the very edge of her vision.
Turning slightly, she let her gaze sweep over the grass. At first, she saw nothing. The landscape remained undisturbed, the lake beside her still reflecting the castle with perfect stillness. But then—there. Near a small patch of wildflowers, nestled between blades of grass, something dark and sinuous coiled.
A snake.
It was a decent size—not overly large, but not small either. Its scales gleamed faintly in the morning light, a sleek mixture of deep green and inky black, blending seamlessly with the earth. The soft rise and fall of its body as it breathed was almost hypnotic.
More curious still, it wasn’t fleeing. It remained where it was, coiled loosely in the grass, its head slightly lifted, tongue flicking out to taste the air. Watching her.
Hermione raised an eyebrow, tilting her head. "Are you following me?" she asked, the words slipping from her lips before she even thought them through.
The snake stilled for a fraction of a second, then lifted its head slightly higher, its black eyes fixing on her with an unnerving intensity.
Hermione crouched slowly, careful not to make any sudden movements. "That’s odd," she murmured. "Snakes don’t usually follow people, do they?"
The serpent flicked its tongue again, undeterred. Then, in a smooth, almost lazy motion, it slithered forward.
Hermione tensed but did not move. She had never feared snakes, nor found them repulsive as so many others did. If anything, she admired them—creatures of silence and patience, capable of waiting for the perfect moment before striking.
The snake reached her boots and hesitated for a moment, as if considering her. Then, with a movement as fluid as water, it curled around her feet, its cool, smooth body pressing lightly against her ankles.
Hermione inhaled sharply. The sensation was unexpected, not entirely unpleasant but undeniably strange. The creature showed no aggression, no fear—only an uncanny sense of purpose and protectiveness.
She watched it for a moment, fascinated. "What do you want?" she mused aloud, her voice softer now.
The snake settled atop her shoes, coiling loosely, its small head resting atop its own body as though perfectly content to stay there.
Hermione exhaled, leaning back slightly against a nearby rock, letting the warmth of the morning sun seep into her skin. She glanced down at the serpent, something thoughtful flickering in her gaze.
"I can feel that you’re trying to tell me something," she murmured, half to herself. "But I don’t know what."
The snake remained still, watching her with unblinking eyes.
Hermione’s mind wandered. There were ways—magical ways—to communicate with animals. She had read about it before, though never in great detail. Parseltongue was the most infamous, of course, and that seemed like the logical place to start as it was indeed a snake which seemed to want to talk to her. However she wasn't sure where to start. Of what little she had read the only way to speak Parseltongue was to be a descendant of Slytherin himself, but it would be worth a look to see if it could be learned.
She reached out hesitantly, letting her fingertips brush lightly over the snake’s scales. It did not flinch away.
Instead, it flicked its tongue once more, as if tasting the air between them. Then, slowly, it unwound itself, slithering a few inches away before turning back to her.
Hermione watched it for a long moment, then smiled—small, but genuine.
"Maybe I should start learning," she whispered.
