Hermione was bleary eyed when she woke up the next day, as she clumsily pulled on her clothes and casual robes. She'd been up late studying, and as it was the weekend, she decided that she could sleep in a little more than usual. However, she was heavily motivated by the idea of her morning tea. She could almost smell it already. Opening her door, she stopped short.

Malfoy was already up, he was still reading the Odyssey, lounging across the sofa. He looked meticulous, as usual, and she felt uncharacteristically self-concious. Her hair was messy and her eyes still had sleep in their crevices. She was surprised at her own sudden body monitoring, but something shocked her even more. On the table was a large pot of tea with not one, but two cups sitting out. Malfoy looked up, his face a mask of indifference.

"Tea?" He said, off handedly, looking back at his book.

She was dumbfounded by this small act of kindness. "Uh- yeah, thanks."

She took a cup gratefully, glad that she didn't have to go through the effort of lighting the fire and putting a pot on herself. Not for the first time, she thought about what it would be like to have electricity at Hogwarts. The kettle she'd had at home was so much faster. She quickly dismissed the thought, though. There was something quintessentially beautiful about Hogwarts in it's inability to sustain electric signals. The high magical energy on the grounds interfered too much with the opposing frequencies. She fondly recalled a time when one of the muggle-born students had sneaked in his gameboy, and consequently spent the next four days only able to make the pac-man "wagawagawaga" noise come out of his mouth. Eventually, Madam Pomfrey had conferenced with Professor Burbage, the muggle studies teacher, and they'd somehow worked out how to rectify the situation.

At a loss in the silence, Hermione decided to remind Draco of the incident, though he didn't quite get the humour as she did, having never heard of pacman. She gave one last laugh as she finished the story. He'd been looking over his book at her, with a slightly quizzical expression, but at the mention of Burbage, his eyes took on a haunted shadow.

He immediately looked down at his book, and Hermione furrowed her brow. "Malfoy, what's wro-"

"Nothing." He answered huskily.

There was an awkward silence while Hermione racked her brain to the issue at hand. Vaguely, she remembered that she'd seen the name "Charity Burbage" on the war monument in the main quadrangle of Hogwarts. It must have meant her. She wasn't sure why it had struck such a deep cord within him, however. Many people died in the Battle of Hogwarts, it was a hard topic, but something that had become almost numb in it's numbers.

"Did you... Did you see what happened to her?" She thought of a possibility.

She saw the top of his head nod over the page.

She understood. There was so much chaos on the groud that she had never had a close look at anything happening to somebody in their last moment, and she spent half of the battle searching for Harry or being down in the Chamber of Secrets.

"Do you want to talk about it?" She asked, gently. He didn't respond, she was sure that he was going to ignore her when after a minute, he set down the book and sat up. He had his arms resting on his legs, and he was quiet for another moment, before he took a deep breath.

"During the war, Voldemort turned against our family. We'd - I'd – fucked up too many times. My father pulled me in deeper, to try and persuade him that we were still committed to the cause." This wasn't really going in the direction she imagined, and she wondered where it was going, "I was taken to conferences and had to sit and listen." He shuddered. "I arrived one day, and... Burbage was there."

Hermione was getting an increasingly bad feeling in the pit of her stomach. Why would the muggle studies teacher be at a gathering of Death Eaters?

"She was being held in a levitated state." He murmured, "Voldemort wanted some fucked up morale boost or something, because he made some bullshit speech about blood purity and then-" the last word caught in his throat.

"...Used an unspeakable curse on her?" Hermione prompted, quietly.

"He fed her to his fucking snake." She sucked in a tight breath. The horror of that moment must have haunted him immeasurably. She had always assumed that Draco flew through the war with relative ease, a golden boy of the Malfoy family; on the side of the darkness but not punished by the light. He'd even gotten the dark mark, it never occurred to her that this was a desperate last bid of loyalty. It was on show, now, faded and grey, the long sleeves of his black t-shirt not quite covering it.

He looked into her eyes, then. He suddenly seemed harder, angrier. "I knew then that if I ever got the chance to take him down, I would. She was a good teacher. Burbage was patient to a fault, even when I was a twat. It became so clear that she was only an example of the thousands that would, and were, dying because of this lunatic. When you, Weasley and Potter were taken to the manor, I couldn't have Voldemort kill you three. You were the only hope of ending his miserable existence, so... I lied." His expression turned pained, and he looked into her eyes. "I'm... I'm sorry for what my Aunt did to you." He scratched out.

Her lips upturned at the corners, though the memory had triggered many panic attacks in the past. "You couldn't have done anything to stop it, I know that, Draco. And hey," she pulled up her sleeve, "we both have our marks, now." He laughed hollowly, tugging at his own to reveal the remaining ink. On closer inspection, she saw how he had tried in vain to pick it off, like one might a muggle tattoo. There were old small scars and newer, angry red marks, but the ink remained unblemished.

There was a knock at the door, and as if a veil had lifted, they realised that they'd been leaning in a very intimate position, face to face. They both jumped, and Hermione stood to answer the caller. Usually it was an acquaintance of hers, dropping by to say hello, or a teacher handing over some work schedules for the prefects. She was surprised to come face to face with Madam Kurin.

"Granger." She barked, "I'll get straight to the point, as it's a Saturday. The WMA is coming up, and I believe that you and Mr Malfoy both have the competence to fight in the under 20s category."

Hermione looked stumped, and it was Draco that stood and came up behind her to reply "Fight? What is this about?"

Kurin sighed, sounding vaguely irritated by their confusion. "Applications for the Wizards Martial Art tournament. It is a renowned competition in the right circles," she looked squarely at them, "and there is a cash prize at the end. Five hundred gaellons." She finished promptly. Hermione gasped. Five hundred gaellons. Since she had obliviated her parent's memories, she had had nothing to rely on but her own savings. She had saved her money since she was a child, but she knew that as soon as she left Hogwarts, it would be taken away with something as simple as a month's rent.

"Well. You interested?" She said promptly, slightly impatient.

"Huh. You know what? I am." Draco answered, straightening up.

Hermione just nodded silently, seemingly at a loss for words. With that, Kurin told them to be in the training room at least once a day.

"You have a lot of work to do." She finished, looking them up and down before turning on her heel and leaving.

Hermione spent that afternoon reading up on the WMA, a sport which held underground esteem in the wizarding world. It consisted mostly of muggleborns, given their exposure to the muggle practice of martial art tournaments, and the gap in the market for a version closer to home. The first WMA had begun in 1963, after the sport had taken off around the world. There were six rounds, tapered down dramatically throughout. You were allowed to use any form of martial arts, mixed or otherwise, and typically faced one opponent each fight. They usually took place in magically altered arenas, though there were strict rules against creating your own. No wands, brooms or spells, hexes, potions or otherwise imbued objects or artefacts. You may be required to utilise the surrounding area, though, in complacency with the guidelines.

Hermione and Draco spent that evening in the gym. It was odd, being in there alone. It was past time for the open use, but Kurin had given them both the permission and the keys to go there whenever they needed to. Since there was nobody else around, they began warming up with the punching bags, moving onto the Muk Yan Jong; a wooden dummy with posts that represented the human body. As there were no other potential sparring partners, however, they eventually had to turn and face each other.

"Can I have this dance?" Malfoy said, eyebrow raised in a light mocking tone.

"Certainly, good sir." She replied, equally as sarcastically; clearly their earlier moment was past.

They leapt into the ring and stood at their opposing sides, eyes meeting. She broke contact and gave a sardonic bow. He reflected back, and with a small nod, they went for each other.

He pushed forward, stretching a high kick aimed at her face. She took a step back, feeling the air brush past her skin. She regained her step, though, ducking under his leg and grasping his ankle while he did so, twisting so that his body convulsed forward. He was strong, and jerked out of her grip, throwing her own balance off while he did so. She fell back, though her arm stuck out behind her and sprung herself upright.

He spun to face her, and once more took the offensive, he brought up the heel of his hand as she stepped into the danger zone and knocked her jaw shut. She tasted the metallic sensation of blood and found drive in it. She landed a foot into the side of his ribs, following up with a kick to his stomach, and though he tried to grab her, she had already anticipated the move, and reached out to take his hand, bending it backwards at an unnatural angle. He hissed, yanking away and grabbing her arm, pulling her forward to knee in the solar plexus. She seemed to come too easy, however, and he realised that she had seen a far more painful place to land a blow. Hermione brought her knee up to his groin, fast, efficiently and hard. He steadied himself for anguish when she stopped short, just shy of his member. Without hesitation, she drew her next move as she twisted and her elbow stuck down on his collar bone. He staggered, dropping to one knee. Instantly, he was getting himself back up, about to use that knee again to land another hit.

Hermione kicked out at that leg so that he buckled once again, and this time she pursued with a nerve pinch at his collar, he thrashed with the pain, falling backwards. When he had had quite enough, he attempted to wrestle free. Hermione threw her body weight into keeping him down, though he was stronger and managed to release himself from her grasp. His arms drew to grab her own, and he attempted to turn the tables. She hadn't given up yet, however, and she clamped her legs around his to keep him on the floor. They struggled for a minute, giving and as much as they got, he tried to use his legs to break free to the right then to the left, but the angle was awkward and she had the upper hand. Finally, he had a burst of inspiration and brought his legs toward him, practically throwing Hermione over his head. She landed on her back, winding herself. By the time she tried to get up, Draco had turned and threw himself down with a body slam onto her. She was knocked to the floor, and he grabbed her hands, holding them above her head.

He stopped, her chest was heaving, her clothes soaked and her face flushed. He realised that he was straddling her, and he could feel her eyes on him. Hermione had never been in quite such an intimate position, and was not prepared for the sensations that ran down her body. While they were both aching from the pain, she felt an ache in a very different part of her body, responding to his body's very physical betrayal.

He seemed to realise at the same time she did, and suddenly cleared his throat, releasing his grasp and moving to get off of her. She was taken aback by her own disappointment, and quickly followed suit, her eyes taking a last glance at the situation before turning back and leaving the ring, grabbing her bag from the locker and fleeing the scene.

Draco stood there, his mind still hazy from a mixture of adrenaline, pain, and yeah, desire.