CHAPTER 41: GROUNDED

"Soles bare, grounded to earth. Body, mind, spirit align," Draco said, waving his stack of notes before him as he paced back and forth in the small space by the foot of his bed. "It all comes back to this. It's the cornerstone of our translation. I'm sure of it."

Leaning back against the headboard with a sigh, she looked up from the notes strewn around her atop Draco's bed. "I don't disagree. The recurrence of this rune sequence is repeated far too often throughout the Grimoire to be a mere coincidence. But we've gone over this so many times, Draco. We have ruled out countless potential spells and enchantments."

Draco ceased his pacing and turned towards her abruptly, his eyes wide. "What if it isn't a spell or enchantment?"

Trying to grasp an understanding of his statement, she frowned. "What do you mean?"

In the latter portion of the scroll they had identified a series of runes, many of which could be translated to a list of various ingredients used in the brewing of potions. However, after much debate the pair had deduced it had clearly been either a mistranslation on their part, or unrelated to the earlier section of the scroll. What they had deciphered of the scroll so far clearly indicated that the majority of the text referenced a branch of intrinsic magic. As such, it made little sense for the spell or enchantment to be related in any way to the meticulous and highly structured practice of potion making.

"What if it's not a branch of magic?" Draco said excitedly. "What if it's magic itself!"

Hermione gasped. "You can't mean-"

"Granger, I think we may have stumbled upon an ancient guide for the lost art of wandless magic."

"No," Hermione protested in disbelief. "It couldn't be."

But as she thought about all they had deciphered to date, she recalled the single rune that had occurred time and time again. They had fallen into the habit of noting its translation to mean outward or external. But now she recalled its alternate meaning; from within.

"Draco…"

"I know."

"If we're right, this discovery is monumental." Her eyes flicked down to her arm, where her brand – one given to her by an utterly deranged, yet undeniably powerful witch – remained hidden. "And in the wrong hands-"

"Far too dangerous," he concurred.

With the realisation that the runic text related to the practice of wandless magic, it was as if a veil had been removed from before their eyes. Over the following days, the two worked their way through the translation with unprecedented ease. Once the translated selections of the scroll had fallen into place, it had not taken Hermione long to note the similarities between her own experience and that which the text described. It was clear that she had already begun to recognise the flow of magic, both inside her body and out.

"Draco," she said quietly, pulling his attention from the Charms essay he had been working on for the past hour. "I've been going over the translation again."

"Do you think we've made an error?" he asked, putting his quill down atop his small study desk and turning in his chair to face her.

"No," she hastily replied. "Not at all. But I've been thinking about this section here. My panic attacks… When I experience magical outbursts. Well, for a while now I've been able to feel my magic when I lose control. Feel it rush through me, leave my body. I think- I think if I focus I might even be able to identify where it returns to, and as such, I believe I may be close to identifying the location of my magical core."

"So, you're saying that you not only think you know where your magical core might be located, but you are also physically aware of your magic's flow throughout your body?" Draco lent forward, bracing his elbows atop his knees. "Granger, according to the scroll, that's a pretty significant step in this whole process."

She gnawed at her lower lip gently for a moment as she thought on how best to express her concerns. "It does worry me that even after experiencing these outbursts for quite some time, I have yet to develop any semblance of control over the magic's release. Nor have I ever drawn it back with intention. When it occurs, I feel as if I am simply an observer. Almost as if the magic is sentient, dictating of its own accord how it wishes to flow through my body."

"I know you're eager. I am too. But please try not to put so much pressure on yourself to perfect this immediately," said Draco. "We have only just learnt the scroll's true purpose. Something, I might add, that is so notoriously difficult to master that Dumbledore was the last known witch or wizard to have harnessed such power. It will not do any good to be overly critical of your efforts before we've even truly begun."

Hermione sighed. "Logically, I know you're right of course. But I can't help but feel concerned. During these outbursts, the magic leaves my body in a much more explosive manner than the precise control needed for effective and intentional wandless magic. What if I'm unable to gain any control over it?"

He stood and crossed the short distance to his bed. Understanding his intent, Hermione withdrew her wand and cast a swift series of charms. The array of parchments and texts that had been spread out atop his duvet stacked themselves neatly before floating over to rest on the bedside table. She shuffled to the side and Draco quickly joined her atop the mattress, leaning back to rest against the headboard. Taking her hand in his, he entwined their fingers. As he gave her hand a gentle squeeze, she smiled softly at the comfort the seemingly innocuous gesture brought.

"I understand your concern," he said. Inhaling deeply, he held the breath for a moment before releasing it in a sigh. "I have my own fears in regards to if I'll ever be capable of casting wandlessly."

"You do?"

He smirked. "Granger, I do hope you're aware that you are not the only chronic overachiever in this relationship."

Huffing a short laugh, she bumped her shoulder into his. "This isn't some basic enchantment from The Standard Book of Spells. In this, I'd happily welcome an Acceptable."

"I never thought I'd see the day!" Draco exclaimed in mock surprise, hand pressed dramatically to his chest. "Hermione Granger, stooping so low as to accept a passing grade."

She couldn't help but chuckle. The sound was evidently contagious, as it caused Draco's melodramatic facade to crack, the corners of his mouth pulling up into a grin. However, a moment later the smile slipped from his features as his expression grew serious once more.

"After the war, after my trial… Casting became difficult for me," he confessed. "I never told anyone. Not Mother, not the Headmistress. No one knew, until you saw right through me. You, Hermione, noticed the way I struggled when no one else cared to see. Even still, not once have I voiced the true extent of my concerns aloud. Until this moment I had not found the strength to admit, even to myself, just how much it frightened me that my magic had become unresponsive, unpredictable."

"Draco, I-"

"Let me finish. Please," he said, offering her a small smile. When she simply nodded in response, he gave her hand a gentle squeeze before continuing. "You were right. It was my dissociation that had distanced me from my magic. My wand, it sensed the disconnect within me and would not, could not function efficiently as a magical conduit. Once you helped me bring down my Occlumency walls I noticed an improvement almost immediately. As I acknowledged my emotions, processed them rather than locked them away, the occurrences in which my magic eluded me decreased exponentially."

Angling his torso to face hers, he reached up to cup her cheek in his palm. He brushed the pad of his thumb along her lower lip before he lent in and pressed his lips gently to hers. With a contented sigh he shifted to rest his forehead against hers for a moment. Pulling back, his eyes locked with hers and she was awed by their unhindered vibrancy.

"And now?" she asked softly. "Do you still struggle?"

He smiled. That wonderful, genuine smile that dimpled one cheek. "I've not had a single incident since I vanquished that Boggart. I'm not entirely sure what it was that grounded me that day. If it was the putting to rest the fear I'd harboured, or perhaps it was our kiss, your acceptance of me as I was. In all honesty, it was likely both. I stopped running from my fears. I allowed myself to embrace my emotions that day, bothe the good and the bad."

"Your Hazelwood wand," she said. "It knew. Works best for those who understand and can manage their own feelings. That's what the wandlore book said."

"I know. You were right." He chuckled softly before the corner of his mouth pulled up into a smirk. "Don't let that go to your head now, Granger."

"Oh, shut it."

"But seriously," he said, his tone sobering. "You were right. I could not continue to Occlude without it impacting my ability to cast. Since you helped me understand that, I've been fortunate enough to have experienced no further difficulties.

"However," he paused with a sigh. Shifting their hands, she stroked his wrist soothingly with her thumb. "After the Ball. After that article in the Prophet. That bastard's letter had enraged me beyond reason and the force of the emotion proved overwhelming. It had been almost instinctual for my Occlumency shields to be pulled into place. I suspect had I made an attempt to cast in the courtyard that day, my magic would have eluded me.

"So I do understand your concerns. After all, I harbour my own when it comes to my ability to cast; wandless or otherwise."

Hermione hummed thoughtfully. While their magic had clearly been impacted in vastly different ways, she couldn't help but consider the possibility that both their issues may stem from their mental health. However, she quickly decided against broaching the topic. She wanted to examine the thought, perhaps even conduct some research. She had exhausted her resources in the magical world when it came to finding a cause for her magical outbursts. But the wizarding world was notoriously lax when it came to the study – even the mere acknowledgment – of impacted mental health. She thought perhaps it would be prudent to seek out some muggle literature or studies on psychological issues and their physical ramifications.

Realising she had likely been quiet too long, she turned so her body faced him. Her full attention now returned to the wizard and their task, she asked, "So where do we go from here?"

Draco lent in, placing a kiss to her forehead before he moved to stand from the bed. Crossing the room to his small study desk, he moved the essay he had been working on earlier aside before collecting a stack of notes. As he rifled through the parchment he began to pace. He stopped suddenly, his eyes quickly scanning the notes he'd previously written upon the parchment.

"I've been going over our notes. Not just from the scroll itself, but all the various references we recorded when translating the Grimoire. I think I have an idea," he announced, before waving the stack of parchment in his hands. "But I need some more space to lay this all out."

Wand in hand, she stood from the bed and made her way over to where he stood in the centre of the room. She looked around, assessing his furniture for an item suitable to her needs.

"Do you mind if I transfigure your chair?" she asked.

His brow arched in evident curiosity, though he quickly moved to the side and gestured towards the wooden desk chair. "Sure, go ahead."

Raising her wand, she levitated the chair to the centre of the room and placed it down gently before transfiguring the piece of furniture. As she surveyed what was now a standing bulletin board – just like the ones she recalled from her days in primary school – a smile pulled at the corners of her mouth. Turning to Draco, she slipped the topmost piece of parchment from his stack. Lifting it to the board, she placed her wand tip to the centre and cast a mild sticking charm.

Turning back to face Draco, she startled at his proximity. He raised his hand, placing his index finger beneath her chin and gently tilting her head back until their eyes met. "You, Hermione Granger, are brilliant," he said softly before he lent down and placed a tender kiss to her lips.

He pulled back, the corner of his mouth pulling up into a grin. Stepping around her, he moved to stand before the board and quickly followed her lead in using a sticking charm to affix the various parchments to the surface. He worked for some time, seemingly sorting the notes into some semblance of order as he went. As he worked, Hermione had moved back and perched herself once more atop his mattress. From the foot of the bed she watched quietly, trying her best to puzzle out whatever system he had implemented to catalogue and group the information. She did not wish to interrupt him as he worked – the wizard clearly focused on his task – yet patience had never been her strong suit and she was eager to hear his hypothesis.

Just as she had begun to grow irritable, her legs growing restless, he placed the final piece to the board and turned to face her. She stood hastily, crossing the short distance to stand by his side and scanned the notes laid out before her.

"Tell me what I'm looking at, Draco," she said, unable to immediately identify any obvious pattern.

"Each one of these," he said, pointing to a large cluster of notes to one side of the board. "Are translations from the Black Grimoire. Each text contained the exact same sequence of runes."

"Soles bare, grounded to earth. Body, mind, spirit align," said Hermione.

"Exactly!" Draco exclaimed. "I haven't been able to stop thinking about them. So I started comparing these specific translations we noted with some more common magical texts. The wording changed over the decades, centuries even, but essentially the theory behind it remains the same."

"What theory?"

"Intrinsic magic. At its core, all forms of intrinsic magic are mastered from the same basic foundation. And what is wandless magic if not intrinsic?"

Hermione considered him for a moment, her teeth gnawing at her lower lip. "What are you suggesting?"

"We take our experience with the forms of intrinsic magic we do know and break it down into its components. Then we apply that to the practice of wandless casting."

"Our experience with this branch of magic is limited, Draco. Mine far more so than yours," she admitted.

"I believe it will be enough," he replied.

The confident grin he gave was contagious and she couldn't help but smile in return. "Where do we start?"

"Unlike you, I have absolutely zero indication of my magical core's location. It would seem logical to begin there. Based on our interpretation of the ancient text, it would seem that identifying the location of one's core, not to mention learning to control the flow too and from, likely requires the same sort of meditative training that is referenced across many forms of intrinsic magic."

Hermione moved to stand before the bulletin board and her eyes scanned over the various Grimoire entries they had translated and the countless annotations that had been added to them since. Brows pinching, she turned to Draco and said, "While I'll agree that many of these reference something vaguely akin to meditation, we lack any specific instruction. I'm not feeling particularly inclined towards just closing our eyes, humming and hoping for the best."

"Such a cynic, Granger," Draco teased, a smirk pulling at the corner of his lips. "Though really, we won't be walking into this blindly. You forget, I have already been trained in the meditative techniques required to master one form of instinctive magic."

Hermione's eyes widened in understanding. "Your Occlumency!"

"Exactly," he said. "In theory, learning to harness wandless magic should follow the same basic principles as the training I underwent to develop my Occlumency shields."

"What was the first step in your training?" she asked rapidly.

Draco smiled at her evident enthusiasm. "Calmness of body and mind, training yourself to be undistracted by physical sensation. Bellatrix-"

The smile fell from her face and he cut himself off immediately, realising his mistake. Though the mention of name made her undoubtedly uncomfortable, Hermione realised that – for the first time since the war, since that bitch had tortured her, carved into her flesh – she had not flinched at her mere mention.

"It's fine, Draco," she reassured, the smile returning slowly to her face. "Honestly, it's okay. I… I'm going to be okay."

He stared at her as if looking for any indication of deceit. When he found none, he lent down and pressed a lingering kiss to the soft curls atop her head. Pulling back, he smiled softly at her before exhaling a long sigh.

"She trained me with pain," he admitted. "That's the method she preferred. Pain and repetition until I learnt to dampen my awareness of physical sensation.

She knew of course that his aunt had been deranged. Draco had even spoken once before of the extreme lengths the crazed witch had gone to in order to fortify his mind. Yet none of that knowledge lessened the rage she felt at hearing it once again.

"Obviously we need to try and achieve the same end without invoking pain," she said, unable to hide the disgust in her tone.

"I agree."

"Or," she added hesitantly. "Inducing the type of dissociation you became accustomed to. We can't risk you experiencing a relapse in your mental health to that degree, not when you've been doing so well."

"I'm sure we can implement and practise the variety of techniques I studied in order to hone my focus, all without subjecting ourselves to her particular brand of motivation."

Hermione found his confidence enthralling and her excitement began to once more overshadow her concerns. With a broad smile she asked, "Then where do we start?"

"Soles bare-"

"Grounded to earth!" she interjected eagerly. "So we need to be barefoot?"

"Exactly. It's also important that we be in contact with the earth. It's a technique I used when first learning Occlumency too. It helps ground your body and allows your magic to resonate with the ley lines, aiding in your control of it."

That added a complication, Hermione thought. They had to think of somewhere they could go, somewhere they wouldn't be seen. Not only did they have to take into consideration the parameters of Draco's probation, they needed to avoid finding themselves in a situation where they would be required to explain their actions. The scroll, the knowledge they had uncovered, it had to remain hidden lest it fall into the wrong hands.

"We could try the Room of Requirement," Hermione pondered aloud. "It is possible it may still be functional after, well…"

"The Fiendfyre," Draco finished for her, his expression grim.

"We don't have to go there," she amended. "We can find somewhere else."

The corner of his mouth pulled up into a soft smile, yet the haunted look did not fade entirely from his eyes. "I won't lie, I'd prefer not to go there. Though realistically, I am unsure it would suit our needs regardless. Even if the room could provide us with an earthen floor, it may not possess the connection to the ley lines we require."

With the Room of Requirement no longer an option and Draco unable to travel outside of the school's boundaries, that left only one option; the Hogwarts grounds. Hermione glanced towards Draco's window. It was late, well past dinner and the younger students would have already reached their curfew. However, with the Eighth year's extended privileges they were permitted to be outside their common room up until midnight. If they hurried, the pair could make it onto the grounds – at this hour likely unseen by prying eyes – and still have just over an hour outside before they would need to return.

Draco led her out onto the Quidditch pitch, squeezing her hand once before releasing it from his hold. Unfastening her beaded bag, Hermione angled her wand into the opening and summoned two glass jars from within. With a swift Wingardium Leviosa she directed them gently to the ground either side of where they stood before conjuring Bluebell Flames within.

Noting that Draco had removed his shoes and now stood barefoot atop the immaculately maintained grass field, she quickly followed suit. Holding the heel of her trainer in place with the toe of the other, she quickly slid out of the shoe and kicked it aside before removing the second. Pulling her socks from her feet, she tossed them aside to land upon her shoes and wiggled her toes in the grass. Instantly, her nose wrinkled at the feel of the frozen dew drops beneath her soles. The change in expression did not pass unnoticed, Draco smirking at her before removing his wand from its holster. With a swift movement of his wrist he cast a warming charm around their vicinity. She watched as the ice crystals quickly thawed atop the blades of grass before the liquid evaporated, twisting up into wispy tendrils and dispersing into the cool night air.

Turning to face her front on, Draco seated himself upon the grass. Following his example, she lowered herself to the ground and crossed her legs before her just as he had done.

"In essence," he began once she had corrected her posture to match his own. "This first component will not be so different from the meditative technique I have previously taught you."

"When I-" she paused, finding it difficult to speak of the breakdown she had suffered. "The night you helped me. With the candle flame."

He offered her an encouraging smile. "Precisely."

"So, focus on my breathing?" she asked?

"At first, yes. You want to focus on your breathing until you are no longer distracted by external stimuli. Then it is necessary to learn to let go of your body's physical functions as well. To surpass your awareness of your breath, your heartbeat, turn your perception further inward still."

Her brows furrowed, not quite understanding his meaning. After all, her experience when it came to meditation was incredibly limited. Correctly interpreting her struggle with comprehension, he added. "We'll walk through it together."

She nodded. "Okay."

"Close your eyes," he directed and she spared a glance up at the clear night sky above before allowing her eyelids to fall closed.

"Deep breaths, in and out," said Draco, is tone deep and soothing. "As you breathe in through your nose, imagine the air travelling slowly, parallel to your spine and settling, heavy, in your belly."

The familiarity of his words pulled forth her memories of the last she'd heard them spoken. Vividly, she recalled the way his fingertips had felt against the nape of her neck as he had told her to breathe. How his hand had trailed the length of her spine, guiding the pace of her measured inhale. The way he had snaked his arm around her waist as her lungs had reached capacity, pressed his palm to her lower abdomen and instructed her to not yet release the breath she had held.

"And exhale," said Draco, pulling her back into the moment at hand.

"Do I picture my candle?" she asked quietly.

"No. Not this time," he replied. Though our intent is not all so dissimilar. The reason we are clearing our mind and training our bodies to ignore external distraction is so we may reflect inwards and identify that which generally goes unnoticed by the conscious mind. We then need to learn to apply our own visual depiction within our mind's eye as a cue or association."

"Like the paper bird charm you taught me?" It requires the caster to maintain a strong visualisation of their desired outcome."

"Precisely," he said with a smile. "That was the exact example I intended to give. That charm is both intrinsic in nature and relies on the casters ability to construct and maintain a clear visual."

Draco slipped his wand from its holster, summoning a blank sheet of parchment from her bag and placing it on the grass before him. She watched as his posture straightened, his shoulders relaxing as his eyes fell closed on an exhale. He was still for a moment before he cast and the parchment folded itself intricately to form a bird. Not just any bird, but a peacock. It pranced around before them, its individually formed feathers fanning out around it in a magnificent display.

"Prat," she chuckled. "No need to show off."

He smirked in response. "Actually, Granger. In this case there is."

"And what exactly could that be?" she asked sceptically, raising a single brow in challenge as she crossed her arms across her chest.

At her snide tone she saw the corner of his mouth twitch, the dimple in his cheek threatening to form as he suppressed a grin. "This charm appears deceptively simple from an outside perspective, as you well know. Despite this, it is a perfect physical representation of the direct correlation between maintained visualisation and execution that exists within the field of intrinsic magic."

Hermione huffed, unable to refute his logic. "And how does this relate to what we are trying to achieve here?"

"We need to strengthen our focus, train our ability to conjure and maintain a clear mental image. The concept is relatively simple when applied to the paper bird charm; you envision the desired outcome and cast. The concept remains the same however. If we take these same principles of intrinsic magic and apply them to Occlumency, the outcome varies. The results of this application are internal opposed to external. Despite this, the process remains the same. Save for the casting of a spell or enchantment, which is of significantly less importance than you would first think."

"Are you claiming the spell itself isn't actually important when it comes to casting the paper bird charm?"

"Does the charm have a wand movement? An incantation?"

Hermione's mouth fell slack as she was momentarily stunned silent. "What… how?"

"It's an intrinsic charm," he said simply, as if that somehow explained it all. When she remained silent, he continued, "The wand is merely a conduit for the intrinsic magic to manifest externally."

Her gaze dropped to the Hazlewood wand still in his grasp and she frowned. "Merely a conduit?"

"Consider non-verbal casting," he said and Hermione perked up immediately. At last, the conversation had veered towards a form of magic in which she was not only competent, but rather excelled at. "Think back to when we first learnt to cast non-verbally. What did we do, Granger?"

Recalling their early lessons, she chuckled. "Most people just whispered under their breath."

Draco huffed a short laugh in response, yet pressed further. "But you didn't, what did you do?"

She considered his question for a moment. "I-" her lips pursed in thought as she considered his question. After a moment she replied with a degree of uncertainty, "I spoke the words in my head."

"Exactly!" he exclaimed, clapping his hands once. "And now?"

Her brow furrowed. It had been quite some time since she'd spared any thought to how she cast non-verbally. She just did it. "I… I just think about my intent I suppose, it's not really intentional anymore. More subconscious."

"It's become intrinsic." Her eyes grew wide as she was floored by the simple statement. Utterly astounded by the revelation, all she could do was stare as he added, "The paper bird charm is akin to non-verbal casting. You conceptualise and instinctively channel the magic through a familiar conduit."

"So," she forced out, breaking from her stupor. "How is this applied to Occlumency?"

"In terms of Occlumency, think of the visualisation component as identifying where your memories are stored within your mind and constructing a representation of a shield, barrier or other form of concealment. The magic has no need to be channelled externally as its conceptualisation is strictly internal."

Hermione nodded, his explanation making a surprising amount of sense. "And wandless magic?"

Draco remained silent for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. "I believe wandless magic to be both internal in conceptualisation, in addition to requiring external execution. Not only would we need to conceptualise our intent similar to the casting of a non-verbal spell, we would need to simultaneously identify the source and flow of our magic. Visualise it and its path throughout our body and then beyond."

As Draco concluded his explanation, Hermione's eyelids fell closed once more as she corrected her posture and slowed her breathing. Ruminating on what he had said, she focused her attention and strived to reflect inward in an attempt to identify the source of her own magic. She could only assume that Draco was endeavouring to meet the same end, the pair having lapsed into mutual silence.

As she worked to calm her body and mind, she attempted to conceptualise the energy that flowed throughout her. Within her mind's eye she pictured a ball of swirling light, though she found herself swiftly growing frustrated. Despite her best efforts, the image she conjured shifted time and time again. The glowing orb of swirling energy pulsed and contorted as it moved from her chest to her abdomen and back again, never truly settling. Not only that, but the instant she would attempt to apply a colour to her visualisation the vision would promptly change once more; alternating rapidly or fading entirely from her sights.

The sound of Draco shifting with a groan startled her from her own thoughts. Her eyes snapped open and she took in the sight of his pale skin and platinum hair, both illuminated beneath the glow of the moonlight. Her gaze followed his lean form as he stood from the ground with graceful ease, his arms stretching up over his head and lifting the hem of his shirt to reveal the toned planes of his lower abdomen. Sinking her teeth into her lower lip to stifle the indecent sound that had threatened to escape, she watched in silence as he walked off in the direction of the Quidditch storeroom.

With a soft groan she pulled herself up from the ground and stretched her limbs. She inhaled a deep breath, the crisp night air causing a shiver to run down the length of her spine and the fine hairs across her body to stand on end. Just as she thought to follow Draco off in the direction of the storeroom, she saw his figure emerge once more from the darkness. As he neared, light from her conjured Bluebell flames revealed the large, seemingly rectangular object he carried. Squinting, she identified the surface on which the light reflected as the stained and polished exterior of a large timber chest.

Closing the distance, Draco dropped the sizable chest on the ground before her with a muted thud. Despite having only ever viewed it from the distance of the Quidditch stands prior to this occasion, she could easily identify the object. As she stared down at the Hogwarts crest emblazoned atop the locked and ominously rattling chest, she couldn't help but recall the tale Harry had once told of his introduction to the sport at the hands of Oliver Wood.

"You're not planning to have me dodge a bludger are you?" she asked, unable to hide the note of genuine concern beneath her attempted humour.

"While I'm sure that would be a highly entertaining spectacle," he said with a smirk. Turning back to the wooden chest, he trained his wand on the large metal clasp and unlatched the lock with a practised flick of the wrist before. "I am certain a moving target is well beyond us both at this point in time."

Much to Hermione's relief, Draco did not release either of the violently rattling iron Bludgers from their restraints, nor did he retrieve the tiny and impossibly fast golden Snitch. Instead, he lifted the Quaffle from its place in the centre of the chest before closing the lid once more. Placing the large leather ball atop the chest he turned his back on the object and made his way to the centre of their charmed patch of grass. Positioning his body so he faced the wooden chest, he lowered himself to the ground and crossed his legs.

When she made no move to immediately follow he looked up at her expectantly, his gaze darting to the ground beside him and back to her before silently arching a single brow. In the past his attitude would have undoubtedly infuriated her. Yet now, the gesture caused the corner of her lip to twitch, a smile threatening to break free. Schooling her features, she stepped forward and lowered herself to the charmed grass by his side.

Correcting her posture to reflect the meditative stance Draco had resumed, she asked, "And what exactly is our goal here?"

"History has shown that each of our competitive natures can act as quite the motivational force," he replied. "I thought a little contest couldn't hurt."

Her spine straightened further, her curiosity peaked. "A contest?"

"First to successfully summon or banish the Quaffle wins."

Unable to deny that the rivalry spurred her on, she closed her eyes and focused on her visualisation. She was unsure how long she sat there, trying to focus, to hold onto the fleeting visualisation of the magic within. After a time, she adjusted her approach. Unblinking, she stared at the Quaffle until her eyes stung as she willed her magic to respond intrinsically to her needs. Within her mind she silently formulated the incantations, attempting to wandlessly cast both Accio and Depulso as she would have when first learning non-verbal spells. However, her paltry attempts returned no results, the leather ball not once shifting atop the chest.

Growing frustrated, she expelled her breath with a huff and allowed herself to glance at the wizard by her side. Immediately, she sank her teeth into her lower lip, stifling the laugh that had threatened to escape. Draco's eyes were screwed tightly shut, his brow furrowed as a small vein protruded at his temple under the force of his clenched jaw. His arm was held out before him, straight as a rod, palm facing the Quaffle and fingers splayed wide. The limb appeared to tremble ever so slightly as he strained in an attempt to cast.

Witnessing Draco's failed – yet clearly valiant – attempt to cast wandlessly, she couldn't help but compare him to a struggling Jedi from one of those Star Wars movies her father had loved. The humour of the situation won out and a chuckle broke free.

"What?" Draco barked, his head snapping to the side and gaze locking on her. His abrupt response only caused her chuckle to grow, her laughter taking hold as she clutched her stomach and fought to steal a breath.

"Nothing," she said, pursing her lips in an attempt to contain her mirth. "Strong the force, with this one it is not."

The grimace disappeared from his face immediately, replaced by evident confusion. " What the-"

Draco's perplexed expression only served to further increase the hilarity of the situation and – unable to suppress it any further – she choked out a roar of laughter that reverberated through the quietude of the grounds. Not a moment later, her laughter was cut short, replaced by a startled squeal as the wizard lunged at her, knocking her back onto the soft grass. In an instant his palm was at her mouth, effectively silencing her as he straddled her thighs.

"Quiet now," he whispered, his hot breath ghosting against the shell of her ear. "We don't want to explain what we're doing out here in the dark. Do we?"

She swallowed hard. Logically, she knew he was speaking of their attempts to master wandless magic. Yet with the weight of his body atop her own she could not prevent her thoughts from straying to far less academic pursuits. Her errant thought must have been apparent, for the corner of Draco's mouth pulled up into a soft smirk. The hand that had covered her mouth shifted, his knuckles trailing gently along her cheekbone before he moved to tuck a loose curl behind her ear. Cradling her head, he lent down and claimed her lips in a searing kiss.

When at last they broke apart, Hermione inhaled a deep breath, the crisp night air flooding her lungs. A soft, contented hum reverberated through her chest as she lay there on the pitch with her eyes closed.

"We really should get going," Draco murmured, his forehead pressed gently to her own.

Somewhat reluctantly, she hummed in agreement. "Best not have you out past curfew."