T R A I N E D T O S I N | dramione

Fifteen

Over the months, Hermione's wrist became fluent in spell casting. It moved quickly and with such precision that she could've given Draco a run for his money. Though he was still far better, she had only ever used one spell whereas his library of them was endless, each one rolling off his tongue like a purr.

But with only three months left of training, Hermione thought it impossible that she would ever be advanced enough for battle. She didn't attempt to be prepared, nothing could possibly prepare her to face her friends on the wrong side of a battlefield.

She wondered if they would leave her unmasked, possibly to provoke Harry, a blow against the rest of the order too. Hermione Granger; fighting for Voldemort's cause and fighting them. Voldemort would gladly seize the chance to rinse her of any piece of mind she had managed to cling to. She wouldn't allow herself to fall, to crumble in the walls of Malfoy Manor. She was stronger than that.

She clung to the possibility of escaping during the fight. Her parents were the only thing securing her loyalty with Voldemort. His only reassurance that she wouldn't betray them like they had forced her to do to the Order.

She couldn't decide whether she would prefer to be masked and dressed as one of them or left as she was. If she was to go uncovered, they would know she was alive. But they would've seen her as a death eater, uninformed of her circumstances.

Hermione quickly decided she wanted a mask. It would also eliminate the possibility of her presence effecting their focus, no doubt theirs would completely corrupt hers.

Hermione twisted the knob and the water halted , the absence of the warmth causing her to shiver as she stepped past the glass pane and wrapped a towel tightly around herself.

The wind howled through an open vent above her window and her skin prickled as she left the steamy bathroom and now stood in front of her wardrobe, shivering. He tensed her jaw in case it decided to tremble as a whisper of wind grazed her exposed legs.

She tugged the door open. Her distaste for the dresses staring back at her had slightly eased over time, though she hated to admit it and her hand almost reached out for one, flinching before she caught it.

The drawers underneath were not so generous as the rail that held the dresses. Already confided to a small space, the drawer consisted of the same two pairs of jeans and three jumpers. Anyone would think they were trying to strip her of her identity, practically forcing the dresses upon her.

She dragged an outfit that she had already worn twice that week from the wardrobe and slammed it shut.

Once changed, she flipped her head downwards, gathering her hair and ruffling the brown mess between the towel. She scrunched and shook it against her head thoroughly until she was convinced that when she brought her back up it would be mostly dry.

It was. Her crimson face drained as she held her head straight again, the room around her briefly turning black. Her vision returned in blotches until she could somewhat see the window.

She combed through her hair easily. It had been so long and yet she wasnt completely acustommed to hr hair's length, still finding herself slightly surprised when she didn't have to bring the comb as far as her waist, it jerking free when reaching her collarbones.

Her damp hair tickled her shoulders, grazing the sharp line of her collarbone as she set the comb back in her dresser, replacing her now vacant palm with the familiar cold sting of the key.

Her fingers absentmindedly followed the shape of the jagged edges. She found it was colder than usual, most likely from the wind pouring through the open vent above her window. She would have shut it had it not so perfectly replicated the atmosphere outside.