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

Twenty three

Hermione hadn't been woken that morning. Not by Topsy or a healer. Part of her was surprised that Draco had listened and not sent someone to check her injuries.

She had spent half the day perched on the window sill, paper in her lap, pencil in hand, and she had watched Draco on his now daily trip to the gardens.

He sat in his usual spot; the black metal bench hidden behind the tall bushes but not quite hidden enough that she couldn't see him bring his hands to his face and shield his mouth from the wind as it glowed orange behind them.

He lingered there for longer than usual. Though he never looked relaxed. His body was obviously tense, each joint bent sharply at a jagged angle. His legs spread slightly apart and his elbows rested on his knees as he leaned forward.

His eyes hardly wandered, didn't take in the scenery like hers did from her window on a usual day — one where she wasn't solely focussed on him.

Hermione had found that over the few days it had been him and his daily visits that gave her the slightest bit of excitement. She noticed it more now that her life seemed more distant and head, numb. Presumably, it was the collar, unless Nevilles death had taken an even more severe toll on her mind than she thought.

Either way, she found herself waiting for him. Staring down at her gifted clock until he would appear from inside the building and stroll down the gravel path with a posture that often shocked her because he upheld it even in privacy, where no one else was watching. Except for Hermione of course. But he didn't know that. That was, until, his eyes began to drift upwards.

The first time, she learnt slightly backwards, not being completely aware how much she had leant absently towards him anyway, and snatch her gaze to her lap. But after the first few times, she let her eyes linger, catch his and stay. He didn't break the eye contact and neither did she.

Sometimes, he would even watch her through the smoke spiralling from his mouth and even through a sort of veil, his stare was intense.

The first three training sessions, in Hermione's opinion, hadn't been much help. Where with the spell training, he had helped her, now he just her fail. She was certain he enjoyed watching her fall. Continuously at that. Hermione didn't miss the slight tug of his lips every time she found herself on her knees, and in front of him at that.

He always helped her up, but in a few seconds she was on the floor again. He just allowed her to do what she pleased, not giving help, just stepping out of the path of her blades and sometimes wrapping his arms around her to trap her between him and his own knife.

She wondered if this time would be different considering she was to leave the Manor tomorrow. After all, she wasn't going to learn if he hardly spoke during the sessions.

Hermione stepped into the shower, adjusting the temperature accordingly as she tested it with her toe. When she was happy, she let herself be fully submerged in the water, running her hands over her hair as her eyes fell shut and eyes tilted back.

Hermione's hair reached the middle of her chest now. She wouldn't cut it again. Truth was, she missed her waist length locks. How they curled perfectly for its length. Now, the curls were tighter and rushed as they ran out of space.

It would grow back.

She was to fight tomorrow, and considering Draco had spent their lessons mocking her, she wasn't even remotely ready. Albeit, she didn't exactly want to be.