Haunted

22 | armor

The next group training session passed without incident. Neither Hazel nor Malfoy acknowledged the odd moment they'd shared on the stairs, though it came to her only in bits and pieces. Fragments of a memory, faded around the edges. A flash of his eyes boring into hers. The momentary sensation of Malfoy's fingers around her chin. The low rumble of his voice as he swore under his breath. The rest was a blur.

She reminded herself that he likely would have helped any of the soldiers up the stairs if they'd been as drunk as her. It didn't mean anything, except that she'd been an idiot for allowing herself to consume the amount of alcohol she had.

Right?

Malfoy and Zabini got to work devising individualized practice for each of the soldiers to help with their offensive training. Hazel was set up in a protective bubble with charmed targets that moved around in the air to assist her. Somehow, even with her skill at defensive magic and healing spells, her aim was abysmal.

It didn't make sense. She thought back to that first training session when she squared off against Malfoy. She couldn't remember her aim being this inaccurate, but then again, it had been a long time ago, and the past all felt jumbled now. Perhaps she'd just been lucky that her spells had found the destination she'd meant for them? Or maybe something had changed.

Her eyes flitted to Malfoy as he demonstrated a wand movement for one of the other soldiers. Heat bloomed on her cheeks when his blue gaze momentarily found hers. What had changed, she thought, was her. She was distracted now— often by him.

She could hardly ever pay full attention to anything in her life, her mind always preoccupied with something else— thinking about the injustice of her situation, about the mystery that was Malfoy, about her family. It was rare that she was ever able to devote all of her energy to one task, and her performance showed the lack of direction.

She pulled her eyes from Malfoy, her grip tightening on her wand. She needed to stop letting her thoughts be invaded by him, no matter how much more interesting it was to contemplate what was going on with him than working on what felt like unimportant target practice. She lifted her chin and rolled her shoulders, taking in a deep breath and then releasing it.

Her eyes fluttered closed as she centered herself. It took only a minute or two for her consciousness to transfer into her mind palace, Occlumency having gotten much easier with practice. In the mind palace, she located a large, empty volume, and opened it at one of the tables. Laying her palms flat on the pages, she concentrated all of her distractions into the book and out of her mind. She felt them funnel through her, slowly shifting out of the forefront of her head.

When it felt like her mind was clear, her thoughts crisp, she shut the volume with an audible thud. She wandered towards the back of the library with it cradled against her chest, searching for somewhere to store the book that would keep it from opening, from the distracting thoughts resurfacing and dragging her attention away from what she was meant to do. At last, she found a packed shelf, wedging the book so tightly in between the others that there was no way it could possibly fall open.

Satisfied with her work, she exited her mind palace, opening her eyes and blinking a few times to ground herself in reality. She felt different, somehow. Both more balanced, and less. She could feel Malfoy's curious gaze on her from across the room, but she paid him no mind. Thoughts of him were safely tucked away and compartmentalized. Now she could focus on the task at hand.

She didn't think about Malfoy again until training had finished for the evening, her focus no longer so greatly in demand. She was glad she'd done it, though. Her skill had improved immensely, her aim beginning to match the level of competence she showed in all other aspects of magic.