Chapter Thirty-Four

"What is it, Granger?"

Hermione glanced over at where Draco was working across the table from her. They'd been refining parts of the wand movement process for the Charm, after completing long essays for Muggle Studies on the topic of "Entertainment: Non-Magical Sports and Why Muggles Still Enjoy Them". Draco had been grievously annoyed to be assigned Manchester United when football teams were given out—not that he knew anything about football really, only that he had heard one of the muggle-born students crowing about getting to write an essay on Liverpool and shouting that they were number one in the league. Hermione had heard Dean Thomas had personally requested to write on West Ham, and no one had fought him on it since they were rather further down the ladder on points. Herself, she'd chosen to write an essay on figure skating, a sport she loved almost as much as skiing, though one she had rarely got to do over the past several years with so much going on. Perhaps this winter she'd find time. She'd have to inquire if the lake froze solid enough to attempt such a thing.

"What?" she asked innocently, looking quickly back down at her parchment and making a little scribble in a corner as if adding an important note. She could feel Draco's eyes on her. He waited until she looked back at him again.

"You keep looking at me when you think I'm not looking back," he said without preamble, eyebrow raised in such a manner that showed she'd not been nearly as covert as she'd thought. "What is it?"

Hermione looked back down at her quill, not writing, just for somewhere to look that wasn't the questioning expression on Draco's face. She'd been trying to decide how to ask him something for several days now, but even now she still felt awkward and unsure. It had been a week since the horrible Hogsmeade trip, and most of the gossip about the pair of them had appeared to die down, or at least become a little less outwardly obvious, but Hermione still thought about that night often. Draco had been the picture of care since she'd flinched away from his touch the other evening, almost too careful really. He barely touched her at all, seeming to go out of his way to avoid any actual contact with her person, while at the same time still acting courteous and doing his best to act normal around her in class or when they met in the hall. It had taken all her courage to send him an owl and invite him to study together that evening, the first time in a week, and she hadn't been sure he would accept.

She bit her lip, then sighed and put down her quill. "I wanted to ask you something," she began, raising her eyes to study Draco's face. He looked politely curious, though there was something stiff about his posture.

"What is it?"

She hesitated again. What if he didn't understand what she meant? What if he laughed? What if just outright refused? Her request was a little unprecedented.

"I… well… I was wondering if you could, maybe… could you teach me to fight?" she finally forced out, cheeks hot. It wasn't that she wanted to be a brawler, it was just that Hermione didn't want to be in another situation where she had to depend entirely on her wand to defend herself. She watched Draco's face. He looked blank for a long moment.

"You want me…" he said slowly, eyes a little wider than normal as he appeared to process her odd request, "to teach you how to—hold on," he broke off, frowning slightly. "Weren't you co-captain to Potter during that oh-so-secret DADA class a few years back? What do you think I know that he doesn't know? For that matter, what do you think Potter knew that you didn't already know?" He looked honestly confused, and for a moment Hermione wasn't even embarrassed, the honest compliment chased with the look of bafflement on Malfoy's face was almost funny. She sobered almost at once though.

"Not that kind of fighting," she said quickly, already regretting speaking up. "I mean, you know, contact fighting. Self-defence." She eyed him again, his expression was clearing, understanding and a sort of wariness replacing his confusion. Malfoy put down his own quill and leaned back in his chair, studying her.

"I'm not so sure I'm the best man for the job, Granger," he said slowly, "maybe you should ask Potter."

His response was calm, expected really, and probably very true, only Hermione didn't want to ask Harry to help her with this task. It wasn't that he wouldn't do it, he would, and with gusto, she was sure, only Hermione knew he wouldn't be as intense with her as she thought Malfoy would be, after all, the only people Harry really had much experience in fighting hand to hand had been his cousin and his gang. It was awful to think, really, but Draco had more experience with dark wizards than Harry did in everyday life, and likely knew more about defending himself from sneak attacks, or even how to carry them out himself. Draco seemed to read her mind. He looked tired.

"You don't think he'd be up to the task?" he asked, seeming to have a forced neutrality in his tone now.

"I'm sure he would try his best," Hermione said, a bit too fast, a bit too neutral in her own tone, "But he doesn't have exactly the same… well, the same experience that you do."

Across the table Malfoy's face seemed to close up. His voice was tight when he spoke next. "Ah, of course," he said lightly, a smirk on his lips that looked painfully forced. "Potter didn't grow up with Death Eaters dropping in for tea every other evening, probably doesn't know all the extra little tricks."

Hermione flinched at the sarcasm that tinged Draco's voice, feeling her shoulders hunch. She'd offended him. "No, that's not what I meant," she said quickly, flushing in embarrassment. "I'm sorry. Forget I said anything." She picked up her quill again and looked back at her notes without taking in a word. Across the table Draco was silent for a long moment.

"Look, Hermione," he said with a sigh, after the silence stretched almost long enough that she thought he'd either decided to let the matter drop, or maybe gotten up and left—she'd been too embarrassed to look over and check. At his voice, she put down her quill, though she didn't look over to see what sort of expression was on Malfoy's face. "The sort of men my father had train me in hand-to-hand weren't the sort of people who were famed for their gentleness, if you get my meaning."

He paused again, and Hermione glanced up. Draco looked pensive, as if he were reliving a memory. Then he blinked and their eyes met. She worked to keep her face blank.

"It's not that I don't want to help you, it's that I'm…" He trailed off, mouth working as if the words he wanted to say had a bad taste. "I don't want to hurt you," he said at last. "My training was very… intense. My father felt that if a man allowed his wand to be taken from him in any manner, well, he had dishonoured himself, and wizardkind in general, and a brutish physical punishment was deserved. The teachers," he added, saying the word as if he held very little regard for the title in this respect, "weren't above underhanded tricks and fighting dirty. It was the Slytherin Way." His grin was cold and tinged with self-loathing. She wondered what sort of lessons he was remembering.

"But that's why I want you to do it!" Hermione burst out, biting her lip at the way Draco seemed to flinch at her words. "I mean—argh, I'm explaining this all wrong." She frowned, feeling frustrated tears prick the backs of her eyes. She swallowed, blinking hard to force them back. "I want to learn how to fight dirty," she said, working to make her voice practical. "When you're in a fight no one is going to be careful and considerate; Harry would be, with me. You know he would. I need to know how to react in the moment. I don't want—" she broke off, feeling a rush of emotion swell within her chest and nearly overpower her rational tone. She took a deep breath and continued, forcing herself to meet Draco's eyes. "When I was in that alley," she said softly, voice only trembling a little, "I was powerless. He took my strength away from me." She didn't say Blaise's name, didn't need to, Malfoy would know who she meant. "He made me nothing… just a girl." She looked down, fighting for control. "I don't want to feel that way ever again."

Maybe it was her final words that broke him, maybe he'd always been planning to agree, but whatever the case was, Draco's eyes softened and he nodded, relenting. "Fine, I'll give it a try. But I'm no professional," he warned her. "When do you want to start?"

Hermione struggled to swallow back the lump in her throat. She took a slightly shaky breath and straightened her shoulders. "You'll do it?" After everything he'd said she hadn't been sure.

"Yes, but only if you're sure you can handle it." Draco met her eyes steadily. "I understand why you want to learn these tactics, but it might be… uncomfortable," he said, frowning at her. "I'll have to grab you, maybe hold you down, sometimes try and strike you. I'll make some amendments to my father's methods," he added, a sardonic twist to his lips at these words, "and not actually hit you, but it still won't be fun. So I'll ask you again, Hermione, can you handle this?"

She closed her eyes, steadying her nerves. She could do this, couldn't she? Yes, of course she could. She had to. She refused to be afraid for the rest of her life. She wanted to take her power back. She needed to be brave.

She nodded at Draco. "I can," she promised.

He looked at her for a long moment, doubt in his eyes, but all he said was, "Fine, tomorrow after supper, meet me behind the Quidditch stands at seven o'clock. And for Merlin's sake, don't let Weasley find out. He'll only jump to conclusions again."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She'd made it very clear to Ron that her time with Draco was her own and none of his business, and Ginny and Harry had casually lended their support to her words, knowing looks twinning over her shoulders. Ron had huffed and rolled his eyes, complaining that he had already admitted his mistakes and promised to leave Hermione to her own choices, though he refused to become mates with "that git, Malfoy," either way. Ginny had rolled her eyes, and Harry had given Ron a look that said he understood what Ron was feeling, then Ron had given Hermione a hard look. "If he hurts you, for real, Hermione," he'd said, deep loyalty in his blue eyes, "he's mine. But until then, I promise not to cause trouble." He'd offered her a rueful smile. "Except maybe the odd tripping jinx here and there." Harry had chuckled, and Hermione had laughed too. The more things change the more they stay the same, as the saying goes.

#

The next evening found Hermione making her way toward the currently vacant Quidditch stands, her book bag slapping against her side as she jogged across the grass. She'd told Ginny where she was going and had received a raised eyebrow and half a smirk from her friend. When Hermione had frowned and demanded to know what that 'look' had been for, all Ginny had done was shake her head and turn to wave to Lavender who was heading toward the girls across the common room.

"Have fun," Ginny had called over her shoulder, a strange cast to her voice, almost teasing, and oddly… suggestive. Hermione had ignored her at the time, but as she neared the huge wooden structure that surrounded the Quidditch pitch and began to make her way to the furthest side from the castle where she and Draco would be out of sight of prying eyes, she thought over Ginny's tone once more, wondering just what she had intimated with her words.

Finally, she rounded the last curve of the stands and spotted Draco. He'd removed his robes and folded them neatly on the grass. He'd relaxed the rest of his outfit as well, loosening his tie and unbuttoning the top two buttons of his uniform shirt, as well as rolling up the sleeves to his elbows. His forearms were leanly muscled and looked strong as he flexed them, his back to her as he rolled his head from side to side, stretching out his neck muscles. A light breeze blew up, ruffling his hair as he turned toward her, expression stoic. She lifted one hand in a little wave, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Hi," she called, dropping her bag to the grass near where Draco had left his. She lifted her hands to her robe clasp and began to undo it, feeling her nerves amp up. She shrugged out of her robe and folded it neatly, finding it difficult to meet Draco's eyes as he waited for her to be ready. She undid her own house tie and dropped it on top of her robe, wanting it out of her way, and finally faced him, wondering briefly if she should have gone back to her dorm and changed into sweats or something. "Um, what should I do first?"

"Stretch," Draco said, returning to his own warm-up, and Hermione did, easily falling back into a warm-up routine she'd used in the summer before going jogging every morning. After a few more minutes she felt limbered up, if not exactly relaxed, and turned back to Draco.

"Ok," he said, coming to stand in front of her, "first show me what you know already and we'll work from there."

Hermione frowned at him. "What I know?"

Draco smirked slightly. "Try and hit me, Granger," he said lightly, looking as if maybe he was starting to enjoy things. "If you can."

She frowned. She'd never thrown a punch in her life. Except that one time…

"Were you a one-time-wonder back in third year?" Draco mocked, as if reading her mind; condescension coated his words. "Too afraid to do it now? Come on, Granger, it's pointless to do this at all if you aren't even going to try. If you're too scared—" He started to turn away, as if he had already given her up for lost.

Hermione balled up her fist and swung.

Thwack.

Draco spun back and easily blocked her, his hand flashing up and catching her small fist in one broad palm, halting her blow before it landed anywhere near his person. "Never strike in anger," he said calmly, releasing her hand. "It makes you sloppy and gives your opponent the advantage."

Hermione nodded, trying not to look rattled. Draco had moved so fast she almost hadn't seen it. And the force with which he'd stopped her fist had been swift and hard. He hadn't been kidding about the lack of gentleness in his training. She remembered the way he'd reacted in the meadow at the edge of the forest all those weeks back, jolting into wakefulness and rolling her under him almost without thought.

Draco lowered his hands to his sides and nodded at her. "Again."

They worked on simple defence: crosscuts, uppercuts, and blocks for half an hour, Draco correcting her form and instructing her on how to get inside someone's guard, how to watch for when an opponent left themselves open for a strike, and how to follow up one blow with a second in quick succession. When they were both breathing hard, he finally stepped back.

"You're doing well," he acknowledged, though Hermione wasn't sure if she felt the same way. It wasn't as if Draco had been using his full strength against her. He was obviously holding back, so she couldn't be sure how much she really had improved. "We can try a few holds, if you're up for it," he offered, catching his breath and rolling his shoulders to loosen the muscles there.

His words were casual, but Hermione saw how he watched her, waiting to see how she'd react. He'd told her that part of self-defence training would involve him having to put his hands on her, even if he would be doing it in a controlled, non-violent, manner, but could she handle that? She'd almost had a panic attack when he'd reached for her arm the other day. Hermione could feel her body stiffen as she imagined the feeling of being restrained. Her heart started to beat faster, and not just from the energy she'd just expended.

"You can tell me to stop any time you're uncomfortable," Draco said quietly, his voice mild, but then he seemed to shift. He looked at her straight on, jaw suddenly set. "I think I can guess why you're hesitant," he said, and Hermione felt her brow draw down. She bit her lip, feeling ashamed that she was finding it so difficult to get past this. "That night," he began, and Hermione looked down, knowing what he must be getting at. "I reacted badly. I was angry, and scared—Merlin, I was terrified, and I didn't know how to process things. I know I was inappropriate with you in that field, and I'm sorry. I handled things badly. I don't think I ever properly apologized for that."

Hermione felt her head jerk up. The way Draco had acted that night had definitely not been foremost in her worries when she'd thought about being restrained. "What?"

Draco took a step back from her. "If you don't feel comfortable doing anything more in depth with me because of that, I understand."

Hermione blinked for a moment, confused, still trying to recall what he was talking about. She thought back to the meadow that he'd carried her to, sobbing and distraught, recalled him yelling at her in frustration, backing her up by a tree, blocking her path…

"Oh," she said at last. "That."

"Yeah, that," Draco echoed her words dully, sounding resigned. "Maybe this was a bad idea." He rubbed the back of his neck, starting to turn away.

"No," Hermione reached out quickly and caught his wrist briefly, dropping her hand when he stopped. "It's not that, well, not really. I mean, you're right, you… you scared me a little that night, but…" she trailed off, looking away, aware of the way Draco seemed to have gone rigid across from her.

"I'm so sorry," he said again, pain in his voice, and she looked up. It was a strange thing to see Draco Malfoy upset in such a raw, vulnerable sort of way. "I knew even at the time that I was acting wrong; I was just so angry…" This time he did turn away from her, not moving away, just putting his back to her as he reined in his emotions.

"It's ok," she said, cutting into his words before he could get going. "I'm over it. It was only for a moment." If she meant her words to be comforting she hadn't entirely succeeded. Draco looked sick that she'd been that afraid of him, even for a few seconds. He turned back to her.

"It's not ok," he said firmly, forcing her to meet his eyes, "and you shouldn't try and pretend it is, just to make me feel better."

Hermione looked down, feeling vaguely ashamed for having fallen into such a societally conditioned way of thinking for girls: don't cause drama, don't overreact, don't make others feel bad when it probably wasn't as bad as you thought. Draco was right. "Ok, you're right," she agreed, making herself say the words out loud, shoving "society's rules" into a box and throwing it over a cliff. "You acted inappropriately. I… I wasn't sure if I could trust you, even after everything. I wasn't sure I was… safe." She held Draco's gaze and watched as two spots of colour appeared on his cheeks. He looked ashamed.

"All I can ask is for your forgiveness," he said after a long moment, seeming to have to fight to get the words out. Saying such things, asking to be absolved, admitting a wrong… it wasn't the Malfoy way.

Hermione had done so already, he'd proved himself her friend, her protector, even her confidant time and again. She reached out and touched his arm, watching as he lifted his head to look at her. "You had it long ago," she said softly.

There was a look of relief in Draco's eyes that seemed magnified beyond her doing. He glanced down at where she touched his arm. "I'll prove myself worthy of it," he swore.

"You already have."

They looked at each other for a long moment, the air charged between them, until Hermione blinked and looked away first. She cleared her throat. "Ahem. So, you were going to teach me something about, um, holds?" She glanced back at Draco with a hopefully businesslike manner, unable to help staring at his hands and forearms, wondering what it would be like to have him grab her.

Draco seemed to come out of his own thoughts at her words, giving himself a little shake. "Er, right." He flexed his fingers and Hermione vividly recalled the other times he taken hold of her, the quickness and surety of his reactions. "If an attacker is going to grab you he'll likely wait until you're distracted, or otherwise unable to see him in time to react quickly enough to get away. He'll want to shift the balance of power to his advantage, so he'll try and position himself to come at you from above or behind." He took a step closer, then nodded at her. "I'm going to reach for your arm, defend yourself." And then, barely giving Hermione time to process his command, Draco's hand shot toward her.

She yelped in surprise and threw both of her arms up, fists balled in the defensive manner Draco had shown her, knocking his arm to the side. His other hand came up and she tried to similarly block his attack, but he was too swift, catching her wrist and yanking her forward and off balance, into his chest. In the next second, he'd twisted her arm, spinning her body around and following up the move by reaching across her body and catching her free arm in a tight grip, pinning her arms across her own chest and her back against his body. For a moment fear shot through her, freezing every muscle in place and stuttering Hermione's heart, but in the next moment the scent and sensation of Draco's presence came back to her and she managed to calm herself.

"Like so," Draco said into her ear, breathing harder from the effort of his demonstration as his taller form bent down over her shorter one. Hermione could feel the heat of his body seeping into her own, pressed together as they were, and heard her breath catch. It wasn't from fear, though his swift actions had startled her, no, she felt unsettled for another reason entirely.

"Ok," she said quickly, swallowing and trying to keep her voice steady. "Then what?"

Draco hesitated for a moment, and she could hear him swallow since his head was right next to her ear. He cleared his throat. "You'll feel trapped," he began, voice a little uneven, though he smoothed his tone in the next breath. "But you aren't. You'll have several options, and he likely won't expect any of them since he'll have already judged you an easy target."

Hermione hoped Draco would hurry up and explain, her heart rate was picking up and the feel of his hot breath ghosting against the back of her neck sent a not-entirely-unpleasant shiver through her. "Ok," she agreed, voice higher than she expected, a little breathless herself.

"If you can get your arm free, jab sharply into his gut with your elbow. You have some experience with that, I seem to recall," Draco said dryly, releasing one of her wrists to graze his fingers down her arm and gently grasp her elbow. It was less of an instruction than a caress. His fingers were warm against her cool skin and Hermione felt another shiver skitter through her at his soft touch. "You can gain a lot of force in an elbow strike, and it likely won't take more than one thrust for the average person to release you, or at least loosen their hold if you wallop them good."

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to steady her nerves as Draco continued his explanation, not seeming in the least affected by anything he was doing. Merlin, why did his touch effect her like this? They weren't doing anything romantic, were they? Ginny's semi-sarcastic, "Have fun," flitted through Hermione's mind then, and she thought she might understand what her friend had been hinting at.

"Your, er, other options, include striking his foot or instep with your heel," Draco was saying, his voice a little too formal, his hand finally dropping from her elbow, "or head butting him if you can reach. You could break a toe, or his nose, with one of these moves, both factors likely to earn your freedom. If you're too much trouble he won't want to deal with you. And as soon as you're free, you run. I'd tell you to curse him, but if you're in this position your wand probably isn't a viable option at the moment, so just get yourself away."

He stopped talking and for a long moment neither of them moved, Draco's hands returning to their original position. Then he cleared his throat. "So, try and get away," he said at last, and Hermione jerked a little in his grip, realizing that she'd just been standing there, letting Draco embrace her.

She pulled experimentally against Draco's hands. His grip was firm, but not painful; if she really wanted to get away he'd not hold her back. She considered trying to slam her heel into Draco's foot—the girl's uniform shoes had a solid heel on them, but she hesitated, not wanting to really hurt him since this was only practice. Maybe she hesitated too long because when Draco suddenly flinched, not releasing her, but gripping her a little tighter in apparent shock as his head jerked up, turning to look over his shoulder, she flinched too, startled.

"Merlin, Granger," he half-growled, annoyance colouring his tone. "I thought I told you not to let Weasley know about this."

Hermione froze. "What?" she demanded in surprise. Had Ron followed her? How dare he! After their heartfelt talk last week he'd been surprisingly good about not antagonizing her about Draco, or interacting with him at all really, helped along by Ginny and Harry, and, surprisingly, Ron's apparently real fixation on Violet. Apparently she hadn't just been a rebound to throw in Hermione's face. At least, not any more.

"You did say he was ok with us spending time together these days, didn't you?"

She tried to twist around to look at what Draco was staring at over his shoulder, but he had her too securely pinned against his chest. "He is," she gasped out, tension suddenly singing through her veins. "He promised not to bother us."

"He'll be ok with this, right?" Malfoy drawled, seeming suddenly to be holding her even closer. "I mean, Weasley is famed for his even temperament after all." He loosed a low chuckle in Hermione's ear. "I suppose if you don't want to fight I could always convince Weasley to help demonstrate some moves. They might be a little less refined though."

Hermione swallowed, struggling harder. "Let me go, Draco. I'll go explain what we're doing."

"If you want to talk to him then get yourself free," was all Draco said, looking back at her and sounding amused. He then glanced back over his shoulder, still blocking Hermione's view of the grounds behind them. "Oops, his face looks a rather interesting shade of puce," he chuckled, in that manner that grated on Hermione's nerves, still a shadow of his old Slytherin self. "Merlin, I didn't know people could actually glow with rage." He sounded delighted.

Hermione squirmed, trying to twist free. Yes, Ron had apologized for thinking the worst of Malfoy, but anyone might jump to the wrong conclusion if they came upon Hermione and Draco in such a position unawares. Driven by anxiety, and the desire to stop any actual fighting—should Ron and Draco get in close enough proximity to do damage to each other, Hermione tucked into Draco's chest, gaining a fraction of leverage, then wrenched her wrists in his grip, managing to free her right arm due to Draco's distraction with Ron's colour-changing face. He realized she was loose a second later—when Hermione jammed her elbow back into his gut, following the move with a solid stamp of her foot. Malfoy grunted, air rushing past his lips, releasing her other arm to clutch his stomach, and Hermione all but fell forward upon her sudden release. Her elbow throbbed with pain.

"Ouch!" she complained, clutching her arm to her chest and glaring at Draco reproachfully. "Your stomach is made of stone!" She looked hurriedly around for Ron, hoping to head him off before he could start something, but no one was there. She and Draco were alone.

"Nice shot, Granger," Draco wheezed, rubbing his ridiculously hard abs with one hand and grinning at her. Was he laughing at her?

She glared at him, feeling embarrassment heat her cheeks. Of course Ron wasn't there. It was a laughably common trick to pull, and yet she'd fallen for it completely. "You deserved that," she retorted primly, glaring at Draco as he grinned at her.

Draco straightened a moment later, catching his breath and smirking. "Of course I did," he acknowledged, without a shred of contrition. "Though hopefully next time I won't have to resort to cheap tricks to get you to take things seriously."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but she couldn't help the amused smile that threatened to make itself known. She already felt more confident in herself and in her ability to protect herself. With every strike she felt more in control. She turned back to face Draco. "Again," she commanded, determination in her voice and every essence of her being.

xXx

Draco wanted nothing more than to head straight to bed to brood after his failed interaction with Hermione, but Sylvia insisted that he join her and Phil in the common room. She sauntered over to a group of younger year students who were sat in a secluded area, noses in their books. She crossed her arms over her chest and glared down at them until finally one of them looked up. There was stillness, and then a flurry of motion as the students gathered their things and vacated, apologizing all the while. When they thought they were out of earshot, the group burst into furious whispers.

Draco seated himself in one of the overstuffed wingback chairs, Sylvia and Phil following suit. He crossed his legs at the ankle, his hands folding over his stomach. He was the picture of ease to those he could feel covertly stealing glances their way in search of any new gossip. He knew what his friends were about and decided instead of dissembling, he would get it over with. His voice was low when he spoke. "I told Hermione she shouldn't have forgiven Weasley and she did not appreciate my opinion."

Simultaneously they began to scold him, their voices overlapping until Draco could only make out bits and pieces of what they were saying. "I know, I know," Draco interrupted when it seemed there would be no end to it. "It was poor judgement on my part." He sat up, planting his feet on the ground. "My mind has been spinning all day and it just… came out. I've ruined everything."

"You're being dramatic again, Draco," Sylvia said with a roll of her eyes. "You haven't ruined everything. You've just made a colossal mistake."

"How is that different?" Draco grumbled, glaring at her.

"It is," she said, reaching over and patting him on the knee. "Trust me. We've seen Granger can be forgiving with all of the tenacity that Gryffindors are famous for. Just give her time and I'm sure she'll come round."

"You didn't see the way she looked at me," Draco said, his eyes cast to the floor as he remembered her body jerking away from his, the fear in her eyes. He never wanted to see that look again. Ever.

"We did, actually," said Phil. "And if you ask me, Granger has been through a lot. You've just to take things slowly, give her space and time, as Sylvia recommended. If she can forgive Weasley, she can forgive you."

Draco hoped so. He wasn't sure what he would do if Hermione pulled away from him. It was surprising how much he had come to enjoy their evenings together, their banter. If he lost that…

"Either way, you'll still have us," Phil said brightly, drawing Draco's attention back to him. "If she leaves you in pieces, we'll be there to put you back together again."

The sentiment warmed Draco far better than the fire they sat in front of ever could. He realized that, just as he hadn't expected to grow feelings for Hermione, he also hadn't thought to find new friends of people he'd only seen in passing. The year was full of surprises for Draco, and the thought of just how much had changed, how much would change, was both daunting and exhilarating. To his astonishment, Draco felt an arm around his shoulders, and he was pulled into an awkward side hug by Phil, who was crouched to the right of his chair. Sylvia quickly joined them, and Draco sat there, stiff in their embrace, his mind trying to reconcile the most un-Slytherin-like display of affection he'd experienced in all his years at Hogwarts. He felt himself relax into it, his arms coming up to grip them both about the shoulders. To hell with the onlookers who were no doubt gawking at them for many of the same reasons Draco had sat stunned. He had real friends now, and although this was new and uncharted territory for him, he would not disparage it.

A knot formed in the back of his throat, born of emotions he hadn't felt towards anyone that wasn't a Malfoy in a long time. Excluding Hermione of course. What Draco felt for her belonged in a category all it's own, hesitantly labeled and only just beginning to come to fruition as something to be nurtured or sought after. And as Phil said, if things didn't work out he could turn to them to get him through it. He spared a thought for how quickly Sylvia had attached herself to him. He was aware, though, of how people can be brought together after experiencing something that altered one's paradigm, especially if it involved someone you thought you could trust.

After a beat or two Draco pushed them away, not unkindly, complaining of his ruined reputation.

"I believe it is a bit too late to worry about that, don't you?" Phil said with good cheer as he returned to his seat.

"Says you," Draco retorted with his best icy glare. Phil only laughed.

xXx

Draco walked the halls of Hogwarts with a restored sense of confidence. Not that he had ever truly lacked it, it was just that he no longer roamed from class to class like a ghost, unmoored from reality, lost to his thoughts. Phil and Sylvia were ever present by his side, and he'd taken their advice by doing his best not to burden Hermione with his presence more than was needed. Yes, he was still miffed about the whole Weasley situation, but after talking with his friends the weight of his emotions rested more easily on his shoulders.

When Draco received Hermione's owl days after their run in, he almost wrote back that he couldn't make it. A few days seemed like not a lot of time and Draco was wary of bungling things up with her yet again. But if he had learned one thing about this whole fiasco, it was to trust that Hermione knew what she was doing when it came to her own wellbeing. It was true that Draco had had the best intentions when he'd spoken against forgiving Weasley, but it was also true that he had crossed a line. He thought back to every aborted touch between them in those brief moments of time they had alone in classes, how he had reached out to touch her shoulder before letting his hand fall to his side, or stepped away when he felt himself drawn closer to her. Not touching Hermione was more of a challenge than Draco would have believed. She was just so… touchable… and Draco's hands nearly itched with the urge to do so. He remembered how soft and springy her hair had been back in that clearing and he forced himself to recall his friends' counsel. Polite. Draco would be the picture of politeness and allow Hermione to make the first move.

And this was it, this invitation.

He was nearly giddy with the thought that Hermione wanted to spend time with him again. He smiled to himself as he penned back his acceptance and sent the letter.

He was truly shocked by the request she made of him later when they were alone in the library. Her eyes had been on him most of the evening and although he enjoyed her attentions, it was clear that something was on her mind. His stomach flipped when she said she had something to ask of him. A tiny flame of hope flickered to life in the pit of his stomach. He wasn't sure what it was he hoped she would ask for but he couldn't deny his disappointment when she asked him to teach her to fight. Her reasoning behind the request only served to further confound and dismay him. He could see that she was amused by his reaction, but her expression quickly grew sincere as she continued.

Memories surfaced of dark nights filled with even darker intentions, fighting off Death Eaters one, and sometimes even two, at a time, in what the Dark Lord called 'training' but was really an excuse for his devoted followers to pummel what they saw as an easy target: Draco. To their surprise (and to his, if he were honest) Draco had been able to fend for himself. He was good with his wand, his father had seen to that, but he was even better at the physical aspects of self-defence. More often than not, Draco and his opponent ended up wandless and grappling on the floor. He recalled countless nights in bed with the taste of blood in his mouth and his body in agony from spells and punches alike. He remembered feeling lonely and wishing that someone, anyone, would come and put his mind at ease, take away the pain. But if either of his parents dared show him any sympathy Voldemort would see it as an act of defiance against him and the punishment that would follow wouldn't be worth the brief comfort their presence would afford him. Those times changed Draco from that point on. He could never be the same, or so he'd thought. Hermione's presence seemed to ease the darkness he felt within him. And now she'd all but said that darkness was the reason she wanted him to train her, and not her friends.

All of this swirled through his mind as he tried to process what it was Hermione wanted of him. He wasn't sure he would be able to separate that Draco from the Draco he was now if he was to teach her to fight. What if he hurt her? He would never be able to forgive himself that, not even if Hermione could. He wanted to protect her, even if that meant from himself. Yet… The look in her eyes as she gazed over at him across the table tugged at something inside of him, and despite all of his misgivings, he caved.

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