Hermione was sore all over, and Voldemort was a bloody bastard. There was no way the training regimen he gave her was meant for a human being. It hasn't even been a whole week, and she was determined to follow it as best she could, but doing everything was impossible. The first week was going to be a break-in period for her body.

She begrudgingly admitted that he was right. She already felt stronger, but she still cursed him all day as her whole body ached.

Her body felt like it was destroyed as she stopped to admire the view of the Black Lake. The view was lovely as always, but she couldn't enjoy it at all as sweat dripped off her as she pulled large amounts of sweet, cool air into her lungs. She couldn't catch her breath, and she still had another two miles to go.

Tomorrow, Saturday, was going to be the first meeting she had with Rosier at Malfoy Manor. It was unfortunate that she was going to be physically exhausted and likely wouldn't have the stamina to beat him if the duel went on for too long. It was all Voldemort's fault she couldn't leave Rosier with a good impression of her dueling skills.

The next day, when Hermione visited Malfoy's library, she found another rose on the table. It was the exact same shade, and she realized then that it must have been intentionally left here, and that Dobby was not absentminded at all. It was no coincidence that the flower was here again today, on this very table in the same position as last time. Last Saturday, she had taken her crushed rose with her as an afterthought.

Now she realized the rose was a gift to her. She was puzzled. Why didn't Malfoy say anything? They had exchanged some generic pleasantries when she arrived, and he quickly left after that. He certainly didn't act any differently towards her.

She stared at the beautiful crimson red rose and thought about what it could mean. Was Abraxas trying to manipulate her as well? She was sure there was no shortage of pure-blood witches throwing themselves at the handsome, wealthy widower. He was delusional if he thought it would work on her. He must have had too many red roses to give away and decided to give her one too when she visited. Very hospitable of him.

After collecting some books on magical languages, she decided to leave the rose behind on the table so that Malfoy knew she wasn't going to fall for his dirty tactics. She left the library and headed towards the entrance hallway to await Rosier's arrival when a voice suddenly rang out.

"Are you my father's new…friend? You're here all the time, but not when he's here."

She froze in shock and turned towards the voice. There was a young teenage boy with white-blond shoulder-length hair standing in the middle of the hallway. Lucius Malfoy.

He continued, "I thought you were an intruder at first, but Dobby said father said you were invited here."

"Yes, and you must be Lucius." She looked for the arrogant and cold Lucius Malfoy she remembered in the young teenager's features.

He looked at her curiously. "You don't look like my father's usual type of…friend."

"What do you mean?"

"You don't look anything like him," he blurted out.

She laughed nervously. What did he mean? Was he talking about the other Death Eaters? She supposed she didn't dress in all-black today. Abraxas only seemed to own black clothing. She glanced down at her amethyst-colored robes today. It was pretty cheerful. No doom and gloom today.

"I'm here for research, actually. Your father was kind enough to let me use his library."

"He never lets anyone use our library." He eyed the small bag she had with her, which had an Undetectable Extension Charm on it that she used just for borrowing books from Malfoy's Library.

"Well, I actually work with him, and my research is necessary for our work," she explained. She didn't want him to think she was a thief.

The boy already looked bored. "Yes, well, I was just passing by. Good day, miss."

"Goodbye."

The child really did look like Lucius Malfoy, with that haughty and impassive expression. He wasn't quite like Draco Malfoy at that age. Or maybe he was, but that little ferret never treated her with anything resembling politeness.

She decided not to experiment using any of the interesting spells she learned from Voldemort's books just yet. She didn't want to underestimate Rosier, as he seemed to have Voldemort's respect, and wanted to stick with spells she used more frequently and comfortably against dark wizards.

Twenty minutes into the duel, Hermione knew they were both massively holding back their knowledge of more complex spells, and we're just sticking with basics to get a feel of one another's styles.

Rosier would string consecutive spells, and she would defend and then return in kind efficiently. Weaving, ducking, and drawing her arms around in complicated wand movements was starting to take its toll on her body. Rosier was fast. That run from yesterday really did her legs in, and she found that her reaction time was beginning to suffer.

As she hastily threw up a shield against Rosier's powerful bombarda, she spotted a dark figure in the corner of her eye. The atmosphere in the room had immediately changed. Even in her fatigued state, she could acutely feel his presence in the dueling room, as if the air was charged with an incoming storm.

Ever since the wizard caught her off guard twice, she became hyper-aware of him as she keyed in on the slightest change in pressure in the room. For a split second, she lost her concentration and shifted her attention to Voldemort.

She wasn't expecting him until next week. How long had he been observing them from the doorway?

Taking advantage of her distraction, Rosier sent a dark variation of the slicing hex that coats the wound with acid and nicked her neck.

Hissing in pain, she dropped her wand to grab at her neck, which was now stinging and bubbling. She sank into a crouch as her sore legs and hips screamed at her.

She concentrated for a moment and focused her intent into her hand and slashed her hand in a sharp arc in Rosier's direction — a spell Rosier wouldn't be able to effectively block, because it hadn't been invented yet. A nonverbal sectumsempra rapidly hit her opponent, followed up by a flawless expelliarmus with a wave and strain of her bloodied hand as Rosier's wand flew straight into it.

She was careless and she hated herself for it. She hated him, Voldemort. He sucked the air out of every room he entered. All her senses were attuned to his dark presence now.

Voldemort closed the distance and crouched down to her level.

"Here, allow me. Dark curses can be a bit more challenging to heal. As you probably know," he said, voice edged with anger.

Merlin, why was he even acting for her sake? She thought he had given up his charming and helpful Tom Riddle persona? Wasn't he perfectly fine with her experiencing dark hexes herself for the sake of knowledge?

Rosier was on the ground a few feet away. He was probably fine, as Hermione's curse was hastily cast, nonverbal and wandless, which weakened its power. He groaned as he tried to heal the shallow gashes himself as he sat up gingerly. Once he controlled the bleeding, he looked at the pair of them with a baffled expression on his usually stoic face. He looked like a dog with his head tilted to the side, as if the scene unfolding in front of him was beyond his comprehension.

Hermione dragged her bewildered eyes away from her opponent to focus on the tall wizard beside her as he helped her to her feet.

Voldemort held his wand up to her wound. He gently tugged her heavy, wild curls over to her other shoulder. His fingers weaved themselves into her hair until he reached the nape of her neck. He gently massaged it and started to caress the skin soothingly with his blunt nails. He fisted her hair at the base of her neck and turned her gently away from him, exposing the line of her neck and the nasty wound. Healing spells were murmured over her torn flesh over and over again until the wound closed up, and the sting became a dull ache.

Hermione's eyes fluttered shut and she shivered. Her scalp and spine tingled. It felt so pleasant, she sighed breathlessly and leaned into his touch.

He leaned even closer and barely brushed his dry lips softly over the sensitive shell of her ear. He chuckled darkly. "How does it feel?" Her heart pounded. "Is it still tender?" The nail of his index finger gently traced the newly healed skin on her neck. She was nervous as he murmured quietly, his warm breath ghosting over her sensitive neck. "Don't fret. It's only normal. Everyone is fond of sensations that distract them from pain."

There was a mischievous glint in his crimson red eyes. He continued, "I'll see you at our next meeting. Impressive job here, but we could have done better, couldn't we, Hermione?" he asked her as he glanced dismissively at Rosier. "Distracted as you were by me, I still applaud your awareness of your surroundings, for once. Nothing like tunnel vision during a duel before you get hit with a Killing Curse from elsewhere."

She closed her eyes to gain control of her breath. The warmth of his body on her side disappeared. When she opened them again, he was gone.

Rosier had gotten to his feet and stared at her intensely with an unreadable expression.

She decided to ignore it and cleared her throat. "So Rosier, I'll duel you again in a fortnight?"

Hermione must admit, she was pretty excited about the school year finally starting. She had been away from the magic of Hogwarts and its crowds of curious students for too long, and being in an empty castle by herself for a month, while nostalgically peaceful, was getting a bit dull.

After Dumbledore introduced her as the new Defense Against the Dark Art teacher and the polite applause ended, she briefly scanned over the Gryffindor table to see if she could catch a glimpse of Arthur and Molly Weasley. They must be either in their 6th or 7th year. She glimpsed a few red-haired students who looked like them and felt instant relief. Even though they don't know who she was, she felt some level of comfort that they were here at Hogwarts with her. They had treated her like family, even though she and Ron were never able to progress beyond their close platonic friendship. She really did miss the Weasleys greatly.

With apprehension, her eyes trailed over to the Slytherin table. They were just children at this time, but she must have some ingrained prejudice against them because her nose flared in distaste when she saw a haughty teenage girl with long, curly black hair. Bellatrix Black. Hermione's scar on her forearm started to tingle. Bellatrix was sneering at a classmate before she burst out in laughter loudly.

She found Lucius Malfoy right away, with his gleaming white-blond hair. She was surprised to find him staring right at her with suspicion. When she met him at his manor, she forgot to mention to him that his father's guest who frequented their library was going to be teaching him at Hogwarts. Lucius quickly turned away from her and started chatting with his friends. Even at a young age, his arrogance was apparent as he appeared to hold court over a group of young Slytherins.

Hermione was ashamed of her uncharitable thoughts. Sure, when she was a student, she felt like she was forced to grow up quickly due to the war. Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Black haven't even done anything horrible, yet.

She was sure to meet a whole host of Slytherins later on in her classes, read their essays, answer their questions in class, and teach them to the best of her ability. She resolved to be impartial, since she hated the way Severus Snape had treated the Gryffindors. She refused to continue that cycle of hate.

Hermione was running a bit later than she was comfortable with for the first DADA class of the year, but she was still about five minutes early. She valued punctuality, and being five minutes early still conveyed tardiness. She had pushed herself harder than ever before during today's morning run and was already exhausted. Not just physically, but mentally as well.

She was irritated and had a limit on her patience today, and it was only Monday. She dreaded the days when it was a Slytherin and Ravenclaw pairing for class. However, she thanked whoever formed the school schedule because if she had to deal with a sixth-year Slytherin and Gryffindor rivalry first thing Monday mornings, she really might start throwing curses like Voldemort accused she might do when they officially first met.

When she arrived at the entrance of the DADA classroom, at the half-open door, she paused for a moment to listen in on the lively conversation taking place within when she heard her name.

"….fit professor," a male student remarked.

"How disrespectful," someone scoffed from the other side of the room.

"Why don't you keep your unpopular opinions to yourself? None of us want to hear it." Was that? It sounded just like…

"Where have you been, Bella? Have you not been in the common room at all? Everyone is discussing the new professor, and I have to admit, especially for a professor — "

"It's not our fault. We have eyes, and it's been ages since we even had a new female professor. Did you know she was an Auror?" another chimed in.

"…like a doll with curly hair."

"Just belt up, will you! She's most likely a filthy half-blood or even a Mudblood. Kraus? Never heard of it in my life. Muggle origins, most likely," said Bellatrix.

"You know all the German pure-bloods then?"

"No, but still, they couldn't have hired anyone else? She looks just out of school herself. How are we supposed to learn anything now?" Bellatrix asked.

"No, no, she must be pure-blood. Haven't you heard?"

"No, what? What have you heard?" Another male voice.

"Malfoy said that…"

Hermione strained to hear, but it was nearly unintelligible as she peeked in and saw several Slytherins leaning close together.

"No. I refuse to believe that."

"She's not even his type. First of all, she's not very tall, or blonde, is she? And that hair…there's just, well, so much of it."

"Lord Malfoy is…a bit more imposing than most wizards," she heard a feminine voice sigh.

"Lord Malfoy would never," agreed another girl. "Not with such a young witch."

"None of that matters! The point is, she has connections. Don't offend her."

"Connections? Did you forget who you're speaking to? The Most Noble and Ancient House of Black? I have nothing to fear." Bellatrix's voice cut through all the chatter.

Stifled laughter.

"So do you really suppose something's going on then? With Lord Malfoy, that is."

"I only said that Lucius implied that she and his father have business…," someone whispered loudly.

Hermione immediately walked in and slammed the door with her magic.

The whole classroom immediately fell silent as everyone straightened in their seats. As she walked down the aisle to her desk at the front of the classroom, she noticed a few students sitting along the aisle stroke their arms absently as they avoided eye contact with her.

She realized there was subtle energy pulsating from her as her hair sparked with energy. She was surprised her students could feel it — the swell of irritation manifesting in her power. The amount of gossip surrounding her when it was only the first day of classes was astounding.

"Good morning, class. Welcome to Defense Against the Dark Arts." She wandlessly wrote out her name in the air in scorching red letters dripping in flames. "I'm Professor Kraus. It's so nice to see everyone so enthusiastic first thing in the morning. Let's get straight to it, then. Can anyone tell me how one would go about resisting the Imperius curse?

A few days later, she forcibly retracted her vow to be nice to the Slytherins. Perhaps it was just a handful of Slytherins, but they are making the whole house look terrible. They were insufferable. She's already handed out four detentions and sent three students to the Hospital Wing after forbidden spells were used during dueling practice.

She didn't know if it's because Bellatrix can sense that she was somehow a muggle-born witch, or if it was her young age, but Bellatrix Black in particular just had it out for her.

People say she went mad after her stint in Azkaban, but it was apparent the signs were all there even when she was a teenager. Perhaps Bellatrix had a rebellious streak in front of all her professors, not just her. Or perhaps Bellatrix can sense Hermione's instant contempt. In the future, Bellatrix was madly obsessed with Voldemort and unfailingly loyal, and was probably the death eater he was closest to.

She uncomfortably tried to imagine their relationship in the future and felt sick to her stomach. No, she's not going down that road. She is not going to imagine an older Bellatrix Lestrange with the cadaverous and dead Voldemort from her future.

Mostly all the students from all houses had accepted her expertise and authority, even though they had reservations about her age in the beginning. Even Rodolphus Lestrange was polite and deferential as he answered questions in class. She found him to be a serious student — highly intelligent and observant. Dangerous qualities to have in a Death Eater.

No wonder the Lestranges were so highly regarded in Voldemort's inner circle. How did such a prideful wizard tolerate Bellatrix's decades-long infatuation with another? Hermione gently palmed her forehead and got ink on her face. She needed to stop circling her thoughts back to Voldemort and focus on grading papers, or she'll never get it done.

"We're going for a run," Voldemort announced the moment he saw Hermione in the entrance hallway at Malfoy Manor.

"Together? Right now? But it's pouring outside."

"Indeed. I need to test your running pace to gauge whether you've met my standards. We'll just go into the woods behind Malfoy Manor."

There was a shortcut through Malfoy's many gardens into the woods. The weather was stormy today, but he found that he enjoyed it like this. He led a reluctant Hermione through the manor. He opened the door to the gardens and took a deep breath, taking in the sharp scent of the rain.

The rain fell in torrents as rumbling thunder cracked distantly through the sky. It was both peaceful and tumultuous, just the way he liked it.

He watched as Hermione casually cast waterproofing and barrier charms on herself before stepping outside with him into the garden.

His lips curled in amusement as he silently cast Finite.

Hermione's eyes widened when she realized she was getting wet from the pelting rain.

Voldemort said, "I didn't allow you to cast that on yourself. I think you should enjoy the rain."

He could tell she was trying to hold back her temper, and she drew breath into her lungs slowly and stared at him. "Why aren't you getting wet as well, then?"

"This is a test for you."

"You mean a test for how miserable you can make me?" she muttered.

He smiled at her sardonic tone. How delightful. He turned to study her as rivulets of water dripped off her face, clinging to her long lashes as her caramel curls began to get wet and darken. Her lips matched the colors in the garden.

That's when he noticed the red roses all around them. He wasn't sure why, but he found he couldn't wait to leave the garden as he hastened through the labyrinth of rose bushes. They passed Malfoy's ostentatious fountain as he glanced at Hermione, who was half jogging next to him just to keep up with her shorter legs.

"I will be setting a pace that I believe you should be able to match by now. I'm sure you've made some progress within these two weeks," he said.

"The training regimen you gave me was absolutely impossible."

"I know it was. You'll eventually find, Hermione, that there is a reason for everything I instruct you to do. It's not just to make you miserable."

He then set off at a comfortable running pace for himself, his boots thudding and splashing against the wet ground. He was pleased to see that Hermione was keeping up just fine. His legs gave him a distinct advantage, but Hermione at least didn't appear to be struggling too much to keep up.

Exhilaration. He enjoyed nature. Being near the elements. It felt primal, as if he could just feel the particles of rain reacting to his magic, as water droplets simply rolled and flung off him. He listened for Hermione's steps behind him as she followed him through the trails between the trees.

It was getting harder to run through the slippery patches of mud, but not for him. His boots were charmed to be impervious to the mud and have infallible grip, and he immediately charmed Hermione's shoes clean and impervious as well.

He didn't want the dirty mud touching her.

While he wasn't even slightly winded, he noticed that Hermione was flushed pink and out of breath behind him. When he turned quickly to look at her, she was glaring after him as if she'd like nothing more than to rip him apart, which greatly amused him. He couldn't summon any guilt for the way the rain lashed at her. He enjoyed the way she resembled a drowned cat, ready to hiss and claw at him.

They passed by streams pummeled by the heavy rain and ran through narrow wet dirt trails surrounded by dense, dark trees. Drenched leaves and twigs mixed with dirt squelched as they made their way through the forest.

He began to take a path back to the manor. They've already been running for an hour, without any breaks.

As they made their way back through the garden, he turned to finally observe Hermione. Today he wore black trousers and a simple button-up shirt for mobility, but was still completely dry. His hair, which fell over his forehead on one side over his brow, was the only disheveled thing about him.

He smirked at her soaked form. She was, unfortunately, wearing a thin cream-colored blouse, today of all days. He didn't notice her attire until this very moment, and wondered if she realized that the rain rendered the fabric translucent as it clung wetly to her skin.

"You've passed, I'll be adjusting the schedule accordingly. I am pleased with your progress so far," he called out, as he walked backward, facing her.

"Yes, well I worked exceedingly hard just to please you," she said sarcastically as she tried to catch her breath. "I just don't understand why you forced me to run through this abysmal rain and prevented me from making myself impervious to it." She gathered her heavy, dark curls together and tossed them behind her back away from her face. "I'm drenched to the bone. It just seemed needlessly cruel. No surprise there."

He stopped straight in his tracks and grabbed her wrist as she walked past him. He tugged her back until she stood right before him, gazing reproachfully up at him. Her sodden waves swung behind her. He watched the way the rain splattered against and dripped off her rosy cupid's bow.

His chest expanded as he took a deep breath. Sharp ozone. The scent of wet earth.

The fragrance of roses.

They were in the middle of the rose garden again. Abraxas Malfoy's garden. It had never bothered him in the past, but now he took in their lush surroundings with unwitting disdain. His eyes drifted back to Hermione's bewildered face before dipping further — straight past her elegant neck and delicate collarbones. His gaze unabashedly lingered and drank in everything the rain revealed on her shapely form.

He stepped right up into her space and leaned down closer to her face, still flushed pink across her cheekbones from the demanding run. To her credit, she didn't move away as her eyes sparked with anger. He savored the singular and mystifying feeling of standing in the rain with her in such close proximity, as his magic reacted to hers among the charged droplets of water.

There was volatility there. It was undeniable, and he couldn't explain it.

"Have you considered, Hermione, that perhaps I just wanted to see you soaking wet?" he asked simply. He watched as her whiskey-colored eyes darkened into pools of black. Lightning flashed across the sky, turning her whiskey eyes silver for a split second. "Why don't you take a moment to fix your appearance and then meet me in the dueling room for our lesson?" Thunder crackled overhead as he turned to make his way back into the manor.

He smiled when he heard an indignant gasp behind him.

A/N: Your reviews are writing/editing fuel. Thanks for reading!