Contort

SHE BLINKED. As if the simple gesture of shutting, then reopening your eyes would make it all go away. She was tired. Tired of worrying because the notion that everything was just going to get worse wouldn't escort itself from her mind.

Hermione Granger watched a small lady bug carelessly land upon her wrist. Its burnt orange, polka dotted wings flicked to a close before it leisurely walked a trail up her arm.

"Good morning," Harry Potter's voice greeted from behind. He stood in the entryway of the Burrow, studying Hermione's frame that faced away from him on the porch.

Hermione's sudden movement to face Harry caused the tiny insect, which was slowly inching his way toward her hand, to take flight.

"Hello Harry," Hermione forced a smile as she studied his dulled, green eyes and bed-head, ruffled black hair.

"Are you feeling okay?" Harry asked while cocking his head to the side and folding his arms across his chest.

Hermione turned back around and stared up into the warm autumn sun. She let its rays encompass her skin. Harry casually sat beside her then stretched his back, receiving a loud pop as the pressure met his spine.

"Something is happening, Harry," Hermione finally responded while meeting eye contact with her best friend.

"To Ron," Harry finished her sentence. He folded his hands in his lap and leaned forward, reflecting on the dream he had the previous night. The vivid images caused goose-bumps to rise all over his body.

Whispering quietly, Hermione repeated Harry's words, "To Ron."

THAT night Harry Potter lay awake in bed, his breathing was sharp and his hands trembled uncontrollably. Indentions from his fingernails carved their way into Harry's palms due to the immense pressure of squeezing his hands too tightly.

It was just a dream.

Harry's rattled breathing soon calmed as his eyes wondered around the room.

He was at the Burrow, sleeping in Ron's bedroom.

Ron was still asleep, though, Harry was unsure of how his best friend had slept through the raging fit his dream had given him.

Harry rubbed his hands over his face and sat up in bed. As he closed his eyes the dream, though, now it seemed to feel as it were a memory, he'd been having for two nights played in his mind.

The slits of the viper's nostrils flared as she inhaled her master's scent. Slowly, the snake glided across the dusty floorboards, leaving a winding trail behind her. Darkness unfolded within the room she entered; only a single candle gave birth to light while its remnants of melted wax dripped carelessly onto the ground.

The dim light of the candle reflected off of a figure, hooded and cloaked, that occupied the center of the barren room. He sat upon an antique arm chair, cobwebs draped themselves along its back and arm-rest. The man was being tormented. Tormented by an idea. A suggestion. A plan presented to him by a trusted follower, Severus Snape.

The cold blooded viper hissed, signaling her presence.

"Nagini," the hoarse words of her master beckoned.

The snake coiled herself around the feet of her lord's chair, and than her neck wrapped the width of his ankle. Cold scales met icy flesh. Binding her to him.

The lifeless eyes of a dark wizard locked onto Nagini, his pet, as she twisted her body up his leg and rested her head upon his knee.

The viper’s forked tongue protruded out the slits of her lips and she purred gently as the brittle nails of her master dragged themselves across her scalp.

“Nagini, there is something I must ask of you,” Lord Voldemort cracked an already broken smile.

Emerald eyes as round as marbles stared upon the face of her master. Nagini’s love for Voldemort was too great. Denying any request he’d speak to her would be beyond belief.

“Kill Ronald Weasley.”