Vengeance

Vengeance
Chapter Ten


000


Disclaimer –I do not own Harry Potter and am making no money from this story, all Harry Potter copyrights belong to J.K. Rowling.


000


Vengeance, deep-brooding o’er the slain, Had locked the source of softer woe, And burning pride and high disdain Forbade the rising tear to flow


Sir Walter Scott


000


“… God! What happened to him?”


“I think his ribs are broken and his lungs have been punctured, not to mention what Voldemort has done to his mind. We need a Mediwitch, now!”


Draco was feeling pretty good. If, of course, good meant that blessed state where his poor synapses were so fried that he couldn’t feel anything anymore. Nevertheless, that meant no pain, so it was fine with him. He could sink deep into this feeling, drown in the numbness.


Emptiness was looking better and better.


He couldn’t remember what he was fighting so hard to keep. He couldn’t remember why he had suffered. His mind was a mass of jumbled, broken puzzle pieces, and he was too tired and damaged to put them back together.


He had tried to open his eyes a few times since he was brought to this place, but was blinded by pain whenever he tried to open his heavy lids. It was just as well. He was going to die anyway, so he should at least minimize his pain.


“We’re losing him! He’s going into shock. Ennervate!”


Draco felt a bolt of energy flow into his tired body, waking up sluggish systems. He didn’t like that. He just wanted to go to sleep…


A strong voice next to his ear spoke, “Come on Malfoy, don’t give up now! You are an annoying, stubborn prick. You are too arrogant to die like this, beaten by that vile scum. Show some pride! Fight! I know you can…”


Then, quieter, “You have to… I don’t want someone else to die, even if it is you.”


He paused in his descent. He knew that voice. How? He didn’t know. But it arrested him nonetheless, that voice. So he must know it, shouldn’t he?


“Please, Draco. Please.”


…Please…


There! In his pain-hazed mind, he could blearily remember that voice saying that to him. Only once… but it was important. Why couldn’t he remember?


He struggled to remember, tore through the spell lacing his brain. He tore through his apathy- to find the will to live, the will to survive, the will to remember.


Liquid, dark pools shimmered with desire as her lips opened softly…


Almost… so close, so close. How did he know that voice? Pain wracked his brain, tears of agony ran freely down his face, but he didn’t care. He had to know.


“Please Draco.”


…Please…


A girl he once knew, but didn’t really ever know. A dance darker than his wildest fantasies. A gaze haughtier than that of most well-bread pureblood. A night of mutual comfort which he couldn’t forget, no matter how he tried.


Granger. Hermione Granger... I remember now.


“He’s stabilizing! Someone hold him while I set his bones.”


Draco slammed full force into unconsciousness, and felt no more pain.


000


Draco blearily opened his eyes while a pair of kind hands fed him something vile tasting.


Weakly, he batted at the hand, “Don’t… want it…”


One of the gentle hands stroked his hair soothingly, while the other firmly pushed the spoon into his mouth. That familiar voice spoke kindly, “But you need it Draco. Now be a good boy and hush.”


Draco tried to focus, but could not. All he could make out was the blurry outline of his nurse. “Alright… just… this… once…”


As the hands smoothed his hair from his face, Draco fell back into darkness.


000


Draco opened his eyes without feeling pain. Anywhere. For someone who should be dead, it was quite an accomplishment, he mused.


He was quite comfortable, wherever he was. Draco stared at the ceiling for a moment, cataloging his twinges of discomfort. Surprisingly few and most of them minor. Whoever had taken care of him had worked a bloody miracle. He had seen Voldemort’s torture victims. None of them had survived intact, either mentally or physically.


Draco moved onto his side to get more comfortable, when he noticed something relevant.


Hermione Granger was in his bed.


Well, he reflected whimsically, I suppose it technically isn’t my bed. But that’s not the point. What the hell is she doing here?


Dark, wildly curling hair spread out like a halo around her face, the fake blond color gone. She looked like a picture of complete exhaustion. Dark circled ringed her eyes; her hair was limp, her skin sallow, and her cheeks thin and hollow.


She looked beautiful.


He didn’t know how long he spent looking at her but soon, as if she felt his gaze, she stirred. Her dark eyes opened, and his stomach clenched at the softness, the worry, he saw there.


“Granger…”


He could pinpoint the exact moment that she knew he had recovered coherence. Her expression morphed from one of soft concern, to worry, to shock in the course of seconds.


“Granger…” Draco rasped, voice hoarse from disuse, “You look like crap.”


He could see the shock drain out of face, to be replaced by almost comical anger. “You… you!”


Draco smiled with real humor, “Me? Me?”


Hermione leapt from the bed, and quickly donned a fuzzy pink robe over her thin pajamas. “You can go to hell! I spent all of this time taking care of you…” She paused for a moment, gathered a deep breath, and continued in a softer tone, “How are you feeling?”


“Better. But I would feel fantastic if I could have a shower.”


“Fine. It’s through the door on the right.”


Draco smoothly stepped from the bed, unconscious of his blatant nudity, and calmly walked to the door.


Behind him, he heard Hermione’s shocked gasp and smiled.


The hot shower felt like it was slicing off years of fatigue and pain. He heard Hermione step in, but couldn’t see her through the curtain.


“Here are some clothes.”


Draco smirked.


When he finally stepped out and got dressed, he felt like his old self.


Hermione, still in her fuzzy bathrobe, darted past him into the bathroom as he exited it. Through the door, he could hear her mutter, “That idiot had better not have used all of the hot water.”


As Draco sauntered into the tiny living room, his eyes were strangely drawn to the mantel of the fireplace. He absently noted a few decorative plants, two framed wizarding photos, and a small pink rock sitting on a red velvet pillow…


Hold on a tic. She couldn’t be that stupid… could she?


He surreptitiously listened for the shower. Still running. Good.


He quickly strode to the fireplace, eyes only for the orb. As he approached the thing, it glowed a soft, welcoming pink. Why is it just sitting here? It matches the description that Voldemort gave me when it was first stolen. Draco shrugged, Ah, screw it. That wish is mine!


Draco’s hands darted surely towards the small stone, and with Seeker’s reflexes, he grasped it firmly.


What he wasn’t prepared for was the stone itself.


Images, thousands of images of his life flashed through his brain with dizzying speed. He tried to form a barrier to it, tried to fight it, but it casually swatted down any defense he tried to mount. However, unlike Voldemort this mental assault was… gentle. As the orb probed his brain, he felt comforted, as if he had found a friend.


Soon, however, the orb seemed to be done. Having gone over the events of his short life, it sat on the mantel glowing happily. Draco didn’t know how he knew that it was happy, but somehow he did. He stood stock still, hand outstretched, still grasping the thing on its perch. He was shocked. What the hell did that thing just do to me?


Absently, he heard a noise from the direction of the bathroom.


The orb glowed briefly, and then zapped his still hand with a burst of red energy.


“Ow! Fucking thing!”


That was how Hermione found him. Draco was glaring at the orb, holding his injured hand and the orb was glowing apologetically.


Hermione burst out laughing.


000


As they walked through the camp, Draco noticed the furtive glances thrown in his direction, the subtle tensing of battle-readiness. In all honesty, he liked it. Even after being beaten nearly to death, he was still intimidating.


He looked around the small village and noted the complete isolation. Deep in some obscure mountain range, Draco couldn’t see any other villages, and heard no other sounds of civilization, wizard or muggle. He supposed he could ask his reluctant guide about their current location, but she probably wouldn’t be very forthcoming about it. He wasn’t hurt- he wouldn’t trust someone in his situation either. Hell, he probably wouldn’t have gone as far as they did.


Yes, you would, his mind whispered, if it was the right person…


Shoving wayward thoughts down into his subconscious, he brought his attention back to the matters at hand.


To meeting the surviving members of The Rebellion.


Draco already knew who they were, of course, having been responsible for investigations regarding the rebels, but he hadn’t seen some of these people in years, and he was intensely curious as to how they fared.


He saw the She-Weasel from a distance. She took one look at him and ran off. Strange.


Looking down at Hermione, he saw that she was staring in the direction Ginny had gone with a sad expression on her face.


As they moved along, Draco began to notice something odd. There were more children than adults in this camp. The Rebels couldn’t have possibly have had this many children in such a short space of time, so where were they coming from?


They came upon a grassy meadow, where Loony Lovegood was sitting with about twenty children, ages ranging from about eleven to thirteen. She saw him as they approached and waved. She shouted from across the field, “Hullo, Draco! My, I am so glad you are feeling better. Is Hermione taking good care of you?”


Hermione turned a bright red, and looked mad enough to spit nails at that comment. She grabbed Draco’s arm, and with only a perfunctory wave steered Draco towards the other end of the village.


Draco looked at the field pointedly, “What are all these kids doing here?”


Hermione stopped suddenly and sighed, “You’ll find out anyway, and you are bound by blood not to betray us… so I suppose it is alright for me to tell you.” She took a deep breath and said, “Those children are the muggle-borns of Britain.”


Draco blinked, “Come again?”


“They are in danger as long as Voldemort and his Empire live. So we educate and give them shelter here.”


Draco reeled from this surprising news. The Mudbloods were in the rebel camp? They would have a veritable army as soon as they grew up! Perhaps these fools aren’t as weak as I thought…


As he was processing this new information, he felt himself smack into someone. Automatically putting his hands out to steady them, he looked up to stare straight into the eyes of Millicent Bulstrode.


At Hogwarts, Millie was always a Slytherin through and through. She schemed like them, played like them, and was a pureblood like them… Nevertheless, she didn’t hold to the same beliefs that they did. Moreover, surprisingly, she was brave enough to stick to her ideals and fight for the side she believed in.


Too bad they lost.


As he looked at her now, he was struck by how happy she looked. She had never been beautiful, per se, but in the past few years, it seemed that she had grown into her strong features and attained a statuesque handsomeness.


He heard someone politely clear his throat. Longbottom was looking at them timidly, juggling an increasingly upset infant in one hand and an empty bottle in the other. “Erhm, hate to interrupt, but Millie dear… er, I think Francine needs to be fed. And since it seems we are out of bottles, well…”


Millicent shook herself out of her stupor and inclined her head regally to Draco. Gently taking hold of the baby, she swiftly walked towards a nearby bench, scolding Neville the entire way for not telling her sooner.


Draco blinked at Hermione, “Well that was… surreal.”


Hermione chuckled a bit and said, “I can see that. They got together about two years ago, and are perfect for each other really. It’s rather sweet.”


‘Sweet’ is not the term I would use, Draco thought disgustedly, appalling is more like it.


As they walked along the neat row of shops and houses, Draco noticed a vaguely familiar young girl with neon yellow hair rushing towards him.


Oh, yes. That is that talkative bint from the club. It figures that she would be a part of this nuthouse.


The girl stopped suddenly, almost tripping over her feet in her excitement to see him. “Hey Draco! Do you remember me? Are you feeling better? Are you here for good?”


“Erhm… yes.”


“Oh, bloody fantastic!” Tonya snaked a glance at Hermione, “Hey Hermione, can I tell him yet? He’s bound to us right?”


Hermione nodded and the girl gave a big grin.


Suddenly, her features grew and elongated. Her hair was no longer a blinding yellow, but a deep black. Her nose lengthened a bit and sharpened, her face went from round to heart shaped, and her eyes grew larger and changed from a murky blue to a dark brown.


She smiled with suddenly full lips, “Recognize me now?”


Draco felt like the wind was knocked out of him, A Metamorphmagus? He squinted at her thoughtfully; She looks familiar, almost like…


“Andromeda? No… Nymphadora?”


“Hey cuz. And don’t call me that. I go by Tonks.”


“Ever to my disappointment.” A man chuckled behind Draco, and then said, “Nymphadora is such a lovely name, my dear. Moreover, Tonks isn’t even your last name anymore. Why do you insist on using it?”


Tonks smiled to a person over Draco’s shoulder, “It would be too confusing to start calling myself ‘Lupin,’ now wouldn’t it Remus? And besides, it would be awfully confusing with the two of us.”


Lupin? Draco closed his eyes in horror, Please tell me I heard that wrong.


Turning around, Draco saw his cousin enthusiastically kissing Remus Lupin.


I am related to Remus Lupin. Oh God. I think I threw up a little in my mouth.


Draco felt a bit dizzy at seeing his cousin suck face with his former professor, and he was sure the blood drained out of his face. Hermione looked at him with a bit of concern.


“Erhm, I think Draco needs to rest. I’ll talk to you later Tonks.”


Hermione closed the door after they entered her little house, the heavy scent of lilacs drifting around them. Her eyes darted to everything but him, and finally focused on the mantel over the fireplace.


She’s nervous. Draco felt a momentary twinge of triumph in his gut. At least I’m not the only one who feels that this situation is surreal.


She cleared her throat and spoke softly, “You can stay here if you want. I am never here anyway. It’s either that or the boy’s bunkhouse, and I am sure you wouldn’t like it there. Besides, you’ll probably scare the students’ silly.”


Draco smirked, “I am rather… intimidating.”


Hermione’s head snapped up and her eyes blazed as they searched his. Draco smiled innocently as if the thought of a sexual innuendo had never crossed his mind.


Grimacing slightly, she gestured towards the chair by the fireplace, “Sit. You need to rest. You aren’t fully recovered yet.”


“Alright, Madame Pomfrey.”


“Don’t get fresh with me.”


“Yes, ma’am!”


Hermione sighed as she gracefully flopped onto the sofa. “Moving on from this mature conversation, I need to ask if you are positive your mother is safe. I don’t want any more innocents killed because of this fight.”


Draco looked at her intently, all mockery gone from his face, “As long as she doesn’t step outside the house, the wards on Malfoy Manor should hold.”


“Interesting.” She pursed her lips thoughtfully, “You wouldn’t be inclined to tell me what those wards are, would you?”


“You wouldn’t happen to be my long-lost sister, would you? Only family knows all of the secrets of Malfoy Manor.”


“I thought as much.” Hermione smirked, “Had to try.”


“Understandable. Can I send an owl to my mum?”


Hermione hesitated, and then spoke in a quiet voice, “No… I don’t think that would be wise. We can’t let any indication of your whereabouts leak to Voldemort.”


“Fucking hell, Granger! It’s my mother! She has to be out of her mind with worry by now!”


Hermione glared at him, “Don’t you think I know that? You are so selfish, always thinking of yourself. What about the hundreds of children in my care? Are you willing to sacrifice all of their lives just to give your mother some piece of mind?”


It was on the tip of his tongue to say yes, to say that the lives of Mudbloods didn’t matter to him at all, but the look in her eyes stopped him. Her eyes, bruised from pain, begged him to say it, to make him into the monster, the villain again. She needed him to be evil, so that it would be all right to hate him, so that she wouldn’t have to feel uncomfortable emotions anymore.


He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction.


Draco simply smiled without humor and said, “You know best. I’ll wait until you think it’s safe to contact her.”


Hermione silently looked at him, shocked. He could see it in the widening of her eyes, the way her pupils contracted. He let herself put up her walls, gather her defenses.


Enough was said. He had given her something to think about, at least.


Draco mildly continued, “What happened the day I spoke with Voldemort anyway? I was under the assumption that these rings send an instantaneous distress signal.”


Hermione took a deep steadying breath, and focused on the simple question instead of her whirling thoughts, “According to our intelligence, you were going to be called to court formally, and as I found out, someone with intentions of getting into your house ends up getting bitch-slapped. So I thought you were relatively safe for the time being.” Hermione smirked, “You owe me for that by the way.”


“I’m not the one who decided to go breaking and entering without all of the pertinent facts.”


“Alright, alright… But I have to ask… Why did you leave?”


Draco shifted uncomfortably in his chair and thought carefully before answering. He decided to tell her part of the truth, at least the more Gryffindor aspects of it. He still hadn’t decided how to use his knowledge of Voldemort’s thought to his best advantage. “I decided to go because I was sick of hiding, sick of bowing to a megalomaniacal pig.”


Hermione nodded her head briefly, “Understandable. Unfortunately, because of that we didn’t get our resources in place in time to prevent you from coming to serious harm. I’m truly sorry for that.”


“It turned out alright, I suppose.” Draco sat back in his chair and made himself more comfortable, “So… How did you save me?”


“We have a way of knowing where people are positioned exactly in Hogwarts and its grounds. Tonks and Shacklebolt went to a deserted area of the castle and gave me the distraction I needed to pull you out.”


“In front of Voldemort? That’s pretty damn gutsy.”


Hermione gave him a small half-smile, “You know what? That may be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” Her dark eyes turned inwards for a moment, then she refocused on his face, “Alright then. I’ll be off.”


As she turned to leave the room, Draco felt a momentary burst of irrational panic. She was leaving alone in a camp of people who despised him?


“Wait!”


As she turned around, Draco had no idea what he wanted to say. Nevertheless, he knew that he had to say something…


Hermione was waiting, watching him with her penetrating eyes.


“Erhm… Thank you. Thanks for saving my life.”


“You’re welcome.”


000


The nights were long, but the days were longer.


Now that he was healed, Draco’s days were left empty. Not trusted enough to do anything of importance, he was left to his own devices. At first, he was happy with this arrangement and enjoyed the unexpected extravagance to do whatever he wanted for the first time in his life.


He luxuriated in his free time- wallowed in it.


And was bored to distraction.


Hermione’s little house didn’t leave much in the way of entertainment, although it was comfortable. There were scads of books, obviously, but he couldn’t read all the time. He wasn’t a closet bookaholic like Granger. That stupid orb just sat there, glowing merrily, but as Draco did not have the burning desire to be zapped again, he didn’t touch it. When he found himself looking longingly at the classes of Mudbloods, wishing to teach them, he knew he had to do something.


Every evening, supper was served in a large mess in the center of the camp. Rather like the Great Hall of Hogwarts, it was set up with four tables. Unlike Hogwarts with its strict House divisions, however, the students here had no hesitation about drifting between tables and class year.


Draco had wondered at this the first time he sat to eat with the rest of the camp. Surely they could have divided the students into houses? As he sat at the least crowded table by himself, he set his face in his haughtiest expression, causing everyone in the vicinity to shrink away from him.


Then, his annoying cousin sat next to him, quiet husband in tow, and all opportunities for quiet contemplation were gone as fast as a cake in front of Crabbe and Goyle.


As Draco sat down that particular night, he supposed he should be grateful for her company. Granger was God-knew-where most of the time and everyone else seemed terrified of him.


Which was vaguely pleasing, now that he thought of it.


Tonks chattered aimlessly at him as he picked at the singularly unimpressive lasagna. He took a moment to look at her- today her hair was a blinding shade of red- and wondered how she could remain so perky in the face of so much danger.


He must have spoken aloud without realizing it, because Tonks stopped her monologue to blink at him in surprise, and Lupin stopped sipping on his tea long enough to raise his eyebrows nearly to his hairline.


Draco scowled fiercely at them, willing them not to pry any further.


Tonks, being Tonks, ignored it.


“What do you mean by that, cuz?”


Draco conceded that he must participate in the inane conversation, or else be pestered until doomsday. “Just an observation. You handle the pressure much better than many of the others.”


And it was true- only Loony Lovegood, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and Longbottom came even close to her carefree nature. Even the She-Weasel and the Werewolf weren’t as calm.


Tonks absently chewed on a celery stick as she spoke, “Well… I do keep myself busy, y’know, and that keeps my mind pretty occupied. But it’s mostly the training, I guess. Combat training has given me a good ‘center.’”


Then she smiled, as if what she said made any sense at all.


Tonks must have noticed his confusion, so she elaborated, “It’s like giving yourself an emotional anchor, a calm, comforting spot in your mind where nothing can touch you.” She looked over for a moment with a critical eye, “You want to give it a go? You have the markings of a good warrior.”


Draco heard a noise that suspiciously sounded like a snort, and glanced at Lupin. He was innocently reading his novel, seemingly oblivious.


Draco smiled at his perky cousin, a real smile for once, and shrugged. “Why not? I’ll read up on my hexes.”


“Oh, you won’t need your wand.”


Draco blinked in surprise, truly caught off guard.


His cousin smiled innocently, “It’s not that kind of training.”


000


He must have gone as stupid as a Weasley to think this torture was better than boredom.


Draco reported eagerly enough to his first training session with Kingsley Shacklebolt. Even though it was an ungodly hour in the morning. What reasonably sane person really woke at five AM anyway? To wake up he drank a few cups of strong coffee, but he really had no appetite at such an early hour.


Ah, well, Draco thought mildly, I’ll just wait until after I exercise and eat then.


The Exercise Room or the Dojo, as the members of The Rebellion called it, was housed in a small building near the edge of the camp. There was a large yard filled with interesting looking equipment- logs sticking out of the ground, beams suspended three feet high from the ground, ropes everywhere, and a large wall, placed randomly at the edge of a mud pit.


Groundskeepers must be getting lazy, Draco mused tiredly, Mother would have a fit if our grounds were that muddy.


He mounted the simple wooden steps and slid open the door. The Dojo was simply one large room, with gleaming wooden floorboards, and simple white walls. What was impressive were the weapons gracing those walls. Swords of all kinds- rapiers, sabers, epee foils, katanas, kodachi, broadswords, scimitars, bastard swords- graced one of the walls. Staffs of all lengths, some tipped with viciously curved blades, some smooth. Various knives hung in a beautiful, deadly pattern. Large longbows hung next to medieval crossbows. Surprisingly, Muggle guns were hung neatly on one wall. Draco had never seen a gun before, and was surprised at the variety that was available. Some were small and decidedly unthreatening, but others were almost overwhelming in their menace.


It was an arsenal.


Kingsley knelt in the simple Dojo facing the opposite wall. Eyes closed, hands and features relaxed, it was the least intimidating pose that Draco had ever seen him in. It scared him more.


His Slytherin-Sense screaming, Draco felt the leashed danger radiating off of the large man, and decided that perhaps he wasn’t cut out for this sort of work after all. Wasn’t all of this combat crap for Gryffindors anyway? Yeah. Run, and live to fight another day was more his style.


Convincing himself that this was all a mistake and that he should spend more quality time with his pillows and blankets, Draco slowly turned around. He slowly placed his in front of one another, willing the floorboards to not creak, sneaking with all of his extensive skill.


“Where are you going boy?”


Draco froze and considered his options. They were not very good, and he was bored anyway, so he opted for a slight lie.


He mentally shrugged and conceded to the inevitable, “Nowhere. Am I in the right place for combat training?”


The large man just stared him down with his dark gaze, as if trying to assess his strengths, penetrate his weaknesses.


When he finally spoke, it was harsh and jarring in the calm air of the dojo. “Have you any experience in the physical arts?”


Is this guy for real? Draco thought, but replied in a level tone, “Of course. I was Seeker for my House Quidditch team in Hogwarts for six years, and have played at least twice a week since the war. And I partook in weekly fencing lessons since age of six, of course.”


This statement, instead of mollifying the man, seemed to make him depressed. Gracefully unfolding himself from the floor, he strode calmly to Draco. Walking around him in a neat circle, he stopped when he was in front again.


“Your attire is unacceptable. Don the garb in the locker over there.”


Blinking at him in surprise for a moment, Draco quickly gathered his wits at this unexpected comment. Unacceptable? I have worn this sort of uniform for Quidditch my entire life. Grumbling to himself about stupid Aurors and their unreasonable demands, he shuffled rebelliously to the tiny locker in the corner of the Dojo. He slowly divested himself of the standard knee-high boots and tight fitting Quidditch robes.


Opening the locker, he was unsurprised to find it filled to the brim with Muggle clothing. Sighing, he picked the least complicated outfit that he could find- a pair of shorts and what looked like a thin undershirt, but seemed to be meant as outerwear.


Uncomfortable in the unfamiliar clothing, Draco irritably scowled at Shacklebolt. “Can we get on with this? I am tired with all of this bullshit, and want to learn real combat sometime before next year, thank you.”


Kingsley didn’t respond to the jibe, instead calmly met Draco’s angry gaze. Then, he spoke in that irritatingly calm voice, “You are unacceptably out of condition for combat training at this time. We will work on your fitness level first. Follow me.”


With that, Kingsley strode calmly past Draco and out the door.


Out of condition? Is he mental? I am a prime physical specimen!


Draco stomped out of the Dojo to show that colossal idiot how ‘out of condition’ he was.


000


That night, Draco collapsed on his bed in a stupor.


I can’t believe I am so out of shape, was his last thought before drifting into a deep, dreamless sleep.


000


Draco thought it could not get any worse. He had been conditioning his body for a solid month in the blistering heat of August, and Shacklebolt was a harsh taskmaster. He demanded nothing of his student what he couldn’t do himself- which was the problem. Kingsley could run a marathon, do five hundred crunches, one hundred pushups, and complete the obstacle course in 10 minutes flat, all in one day. Then, he would get up the next day and do it again.


It was enough to make a grown man want to cry.


Draco soon found that his Quidditch training was worth next to nothing. Perhaps as a Beater or Chaser he would have developed more upper body strength, he thought irritably as he struggled to complete his thirtieth pull-up on the large bar outside the Dojo. At least fencing had given him some muscle. What had Quidditch gotten him? Nothing except great thighs and flying skills, which meant jack shit in this arena.


He had quickly found that out during his ‘little jogs’ with Kingsley or Tonks. He was wheezing after one kilometer while they could go on forever. Broom riding wasn’t very good for endurance, it seemed.


Soon, however, his body adapted to the strain, and at the month’s end, Draco began to relish his morning jogs. Even if working his body this way was a bit plebian, he looked better than ever. And that was certainly saying something.


Then he started the ‘real’ combat training.


Kingsley moved with a deadly kind of grace- surprising for someone of his size. Beautiful, powerful, he would tear through his katas, deploying phantom enemies with careful scorn. Draco learned these from the silent man- Kingsley would perform it once, and Draco would have to repeat it, exactly. If he made a mistake, as he inevitably did, Shacklebolt would calmly correct his form, and add another lap around the camp to his afternoon run.


Draco ran a lot.


But on the flip side, his attention span certainly got longer.


On the days that he would spar with the colossal man, Draco would hurt so badly that he would need to see Lisa Turpin, the resident Mediwitch, to fix all of his injuries. Broken ribs, bruises, and concussions- he got them all. It was surprising that he kept coming back, as he had never had much tolerance for pain. But then, he had never had any tolerance for someone getting the better of him.


He must be more masochistic than he thought. Or more of a Gryffindor. Or maybe his pride was finally getting the best of him…


Today, he was sparring with his cousin. Training with Tonks was always an experience. Not like the brutal beatings he suffered with Kingsley, but Draco dreaded them all the same. She was a walking contradiction- limber and clumsy. Fighting her was like fighting a drunkard- her unpredictable, bizarre contortions of her body, and her freakishly fluid dips made her moves impossible to predict. The most frustrating move was when she would ‘trip,’ evade Draco’s textbook punch, and still manage to get in a nice hit that took the breath out of him.


Then she would giggle a little and say, “Whoops!” in a cute, completely un-winded voice.


Ha-freaking-ha, thought Draco, If she laughs one more time I’ll kick her to the moon, girl or not.


She bounced around him, blocking his hits, smiling, encouraging him at points, calling out comments like, “Good job!” or “Ooh, nice punch! I almost couldn’t block that one!”


It was enough to make him see red.


He had worked up a good sweat, and had removed his shirt to relieve some of the heat in the stifling Dojo. It irked him that Tonks wasn’t sweating nearly as much as he was, but he supposed that she had been doling this kind of punishment to her body on a more regular basis. Not that he was making excuses, of course. It just meant that he had more work to do.


It was one thing to be beaten to a bloody pulp by a colossal behemoth of a man like Shacklebolt, and quite another to have a little slip of a girl run circles around him.


He absently noted that some of his long hair had worked itself out of the tight knot at the base of his neck. As he irritably brushed it behind his ears, absently wiping the sweat off his brow, he noticed that he had an audience beyond the eerily silent, ever-present Shacklebolt.


Hermione and Neville were silently propped against the wall, watching him.


Draco felt a surge of anger. How dare they intrude on his training? Were they here to laugh at his ineptitude?


Upon closer examination, he noted no signs of humor in their eyes, no scornful smirks. He noted Hermione’s dark gaze was more intent, more focused than Neville’s.


Draco smirked.


He languidly circled his cousin, purposely positioning himself so that Granger could get the best view. He smoothly shifted into a stance that strained his back muscles.


He heard a soft gasp.


Crowing to himself in triumph, he slowly turned to see Granger staring determinedly at her shoes, cheeks pink.


Then Tonks landed a roundhouse kick to his abdomen.


Needless to say, he was finished with training for the day.


As he was trying to catch his breath, his grey eyes caught Hermione’s hasty exit with Tonks in tow. Next time. I will get her next time. Over the course of the past month, she had been surprisingly hard to find. Even living in her house, he rarely saw her. Only the occasional glimpse from across the village, really.


It was enough to drive a man crazy.


Shacklebolt gave him a few stern words about paying attention during a fight, then left, leaving him alone with Longbottom.


It was odd, really. He had known Longbottom for practically his whole life, and he couldn’t recall ever having a real conversation with the klutz. Teasing him probably didn’t count.


Neville watched him with old, grave eyes. Assessing him. Measuring him. Oh yes, he was definitely not the timid little thing Draco remembered.


Then, just as suddenly, his face morphed back into that expression of doofy amiability that Draco remembered so well. He cleared is throat and spoke softly, “So Malfoy. I… I have been watching you, you know.”


Draco raised an eyebrow, “Indeed?”


Neville smiled weakly, “Yes. And so has Millie. We needed to know… to know if you were trustworthy. Even with your pact.”


Draco frowned impatiently, “Yes, yes. Because I am a piece of Death Eater scum, get on with it.”


“No! It’s… well, it’s because of the way you look at Hermione.”


Draco cleared his throat uncomfortably, “Granger? What would I want with her?”


Neville looked at him evenly, “I can’t say for sure. I don’t even think you know what you want from her. I just came to warn you.”


“Warn me?”


“Yes. Hermione was probably the kindest person I have ever met. Not the quietest, or the shyest, maybe, but definitely the kindest. She would help students with their homework for hours and try to help others who wouldn’t help themselves, like House Elves.” Neville seemed to turn inward and smiled a little as if remembering a particularly funny memory. “She used to knit these little caps… Never mind.”


Draco snorted, “I don’t believe it. The kindest? Please, she was never a pushover.”


Neville shook his head, “Kind doesn’t mean meek. She would stand up for what she believed in and defend her friends to the death. But she didn’t want to.”


“What?”


“She was dreading this war.” Neville smiled wearily, “She wanted to become a Healer, to ‘preserve life’ not to take it.”


“And the war?”


“I think it took something vital from her, even beyond taking away everything she loved. Do you know what happens to those who have too much compassion when broken? They can become the cruelest people imaginable. Because they know pain, they understand it; they have felt it for too long.”


Draco swallowed harshly, “And Granger?”


“She’s on the edge,” Neville sighed, “She has very little left to live for, but she’s not broken to the point where she wants everyone to feel her pain no matter what the consequences. Although there are a few specific people for whom she wants that. I wouldn’t like to be Voldemort right now.”


“No. I don’t think I would either.”


Neville looked straight into his eyes and said, “So don’t play with her Malfoy. She doesn’t deserve it, and I don’t think she is strong enough to take another blow of that magnitude. We don’t know what might happen.”


He sighed and said, “Understood, Longbottom. Now stop infesting my space with your presence, and leave me.”


Draco looked at the weapons lining the wall and wondered how his life ever became this complicated. Because he knew that he wouldn’t leave Hermione Granger alone, no matter what the cost.


000


A/N: This chapter was so fun for me to write! I got to air another one of my pet peeves- the ‘Quidditch Honed Body.’ As a former athlete, I can say that from JKR’s description of the sport, it doesn’t sound very physically demanding, especially the Seeker position. Like riding a horse- gives you great thighs and tone but not so hot for cardiovascular or for conditioning. Also, I got to use that Neville/Draco conversation that I had planned since this whole crazy thing got started. Speaking of which, I noticed that this story is over a year old. Eep! My excuse was that I was in college, so I had crappy updating skills. Hopefully I am doing better now. This is unbetaed except for my own editing skills, so I’ll repost when my lovely beta gets back to me!


Lilykat: Actual tears? Oh my, darling, I am so flattered! I love Narcissa, and now that Draco’s loving family is actually canon, I feel more justified in writing it. I am glad that you don’t think I am melodramatic, I don’t feel that way when I am writing it, but I could see how this fic could easily slip into that. I am glad that it didn’t! Oh, I am slowly working my way though your lovely fic catalyst, by the way, and will leave a lovely review when I am done! Thanks so much for your support.

Audrey Coldren: Thanks for your support in whet I did to our poor Draco… It seems to be the consensus that it was a good thing ^_^; Anyway, this chapter had a little interaction but not too much, I’ll get to the major stuff next chapter!


HiddenAllusion: Thank you so much. I am glad you think my story is getting better and not worse! I like my summary too; I can just imagine one of those booming TV voices reading it! Thanks again for your review!


Erin: Yeah, I was getting so tired of the dancing, and I needed to give our kids some time to fall in love! I am so happy you think I am staying on course while bringing in new things- I try to be fresh and original, but focused too. It’s hard! So that’s why it is great to have people like you telling me that I am doing something right. Thank you so much!


Much thanks to: anon, angel eyes, and Fiona