Harry couldn't remember the last time his feet ached this badly. Apparition had made him extremely lazy, apparently. With a groan, he pulled himself from the transfigured sleeping cot to his sore and aching legs. He hoped to have the morning to relax and ease some tension over a nice breakfast, but the thumps from the living room seemed to indicate otherwise. Bleary-eyed and yawning, he shuffled into the room to find the entire room transformed. The previously empty living room held various punching bags and fitness mats. In a corner, Hermione threw jab after jab into a levitating punching bag.

"What's this?" Harry yawned.

"If you two are going to insist on staying, you're going to have to learn to defend yourself."

"Rude. Mind you I used to teach DA and DADA. I think I know-"

His and Ron's wands flew from the bedroom into her outstretched hand with a non-verbal Expelliarmus.

"Wandless," she clarified with a smug smirk, placing the wands in a lockbox. "You're going to have to learn how to throw a punch, Harry Potter."

"Coffee first," he groaned as he trudged into the kitchen to start breakfast. "I don't learn anything before breakfast."

"First pot's gone. You'll have to make it fresh." She grunted, throwing another combination into the punching bag.

The kitchen was practically empty aside from the same Queen's University coffee mug sitting on the counter next to a large coffee maker. Hermione's priorities were nothing if not clear. Harry hadn't even thought about furnishing when leaving his flat. During the horcrux hunt, everything they had needed simply appeared with the tent. Hermione had always been the one to make sure of that.

"Gonna need that wand back to even attempt breakfast," he shouted,hoping to find something he could transfigure into pans and dishes.

The thumps from the other room quieted, replaced with the sounds of rummaging and muttering. Hermione moved towards him as her arm disappeared into her bag. It was a distinct difference from her last go back, this one all leather and metal usually strapped to her thigh, and Harry absently wondered if it, like her, was simply transfigured from the older, softer version into this new armor.

An assortment of pots, pans, and kitchenware floated themselves from the bag into the various cabinets around. He muttered a thanks as she started the new batch of coffee. They worked in silence, something he had become accustomed to over the last month. At least the silence lasted until Ron came bumbling in with a yawn.

"Thought I smelled bacon," he mumbled, dropping into a chair.

Even facing away from him, Harry could see Hermione's back straighten at Ron's voice. Something about him set her on edge, and Harry couldn't understand why. There were many secrets she still harbored, but he didn't see how any of them could possibly involve their best friend. After the war, Ron settled into an easy routine of working in the shop dotted with the same public appearances Harry made at events and press conferences. A normal, quiet life after the war.

Breakfast passed in silence. It was too much like the tent for Harry, when the horcrux weighed down on each of them, drawing the life source out of its wearer and anyone close by. Days without it were a slight reprieve, but nothing could completely dissipate the misery the locket brought. Not until it was destroyed.

"So what now?" Ron threw out over his second helping. Going to bed without supper clearly didn't sit well with his stomach.

"If you both are going to insist on being part of this, we need to start training immediately."

"Training?" Ron asked through a mouthful of food. "What kind of training?"

"Hand-to-hand combat at least. You'll need it."

"I know how to fight!" he shouted indignantly as he threw a right hook wildly through the air.

Hermione snorted into her coffee mug. Honestly, she was surprised he hadn't thrown his shoulder out with the attempt. "Those people out there fight and claw their way through every day. Your measly excuse of a right hook simple won't do."

"It won't just be my right hook! I'll have my wand-" Ron was cut off by her haughty laughter.

"The spells they teach would make even Bellatrix Lestrange pale. From now on, training starts at 7:00 sharp."

"In the morning?!"

"It would be earlier but I'd like to keep up my own training."

Harry watched as they bickered back and forth. If he ignored the subject of conversation, if he ignored the flat around them, he could almost imagine they were still at Hogwarts in the common room. A scrap of the chair drew his focus back to his friends, Ron munching on his toast as Hermione stalked back into the living room.

"She's joking, right, mate?" Ron asked once she disappeared around the corner. "We're not really gonna fist fight or nothing."

As Harry started to answer, the steady thump of fists against a sandbag started up again. "No, I don't think she's joking."

To start, Hermione tried not to let her frustration show. It was a valiant effort, but one that very quickly evaporated. To say the boys were bad would be an understatement. She told them that they fought like teenagers, but that was perhaps a bit kind and an insult to teenagers everywhere. They had both become entirely too reliant on wands. It was a hard instinct to fight against, but one that needed correction if they stood a chance at any kind of altercation with the New Order.

Their pace was slow, practically a crawl. She made corrections to their form, showed them how to properly throw a punch without breaking a thumb, the proper stance to defend and attack. But all of it was a direct contrast to how wand duels were. Dueling required reach and extension for casting. Sparing required a tight form and quick strikes. An exasperated sigh slipped through her defenses as Ron jammed his wrist yet again in a quick jab.

"These are basic things," she shouted. "Things every single person in the Academy knows before graduating, even the children."

"Academy?" Ron questioned as he nursed his sore wrist close to his chest.

"The training prior to Post work. Everyone goes through it no matter what. Every single person from the New Order we face will have gone through Academy training."

"Is that where you learned to fight?" Ron asked, hoping if he could get her on a rant, he'd be able to take a break. Even Harry stopped to listen for her answer.

"Only way you can beat them is if you fight like them," she said, blatantly ignoring the question. "And even then it'll be tough. Now again." Taking his fist in her hand, she forcibly straightened his wrist and gave it a firm smack to test the tension. "Straight, strong wrist this time."

By lunch, sweat dripped down both Harry and Ron's backs. The boys made sandwiches while Hermione took their break to continue her own workout. The noise of her hits and grunts concealed their conversation.

"What is wrong with her?" Ron hissed, stacking six slices of bread on his plate.

Harry glared back as he handed over the container of sandwich meat. "Sorry, did you miss that whole story where she was kidnapped by a sadistic cult for the last four years?"

"Well yeah, but she's not there now." The mustard bottle made a loud noise as Ron squirt small mounds of the yellow substance over his bread.

Harry mused over what he knew as he spread mayonnaise over his own sandwich. The scars he'd seen. The subtle changes to her demeanor. The nightmares that sent her into violent flashbacks. "What they did to her, it changes a person. The war changed all of us. You can't honestly expect her to not be different."

"Dunno, just didn't think it'd be like this when she came back, a whole different person. I barely recognize her now."

"It's been nearly four years. I'd say we're not the same people we were four years ago."

When Ron turned to face him again, half a sandwich disappeared into his mouth as he inhaled the first one.

"Well maybe we are," Harry muttered, rolling his eyes.

During their conversation, neither of them realized the thumping had quieted until Hermione stormed through the kitchen, filled a glass of water from the tap, and marched back towards the living room glaring at Ron as she did.

"Do ya think she heard me?"

"Ron, I think half of London heard you."

They ate the rest of their sandwiches in silence. As they washed dishes, a whistle sounded from the living room.

"Sparring. Let's see if you actually learned anything," she huffed as she tapped her knuckles. Her piercing gaze found Ron, who swallowed hard at the look.

"Me first," Harry said, stepping in front of her and holding his hands out for the tape. What purpose it served, he had no idea, but if she was taping her knuckles, he figured he ought to as all. If he could take the brunt of her anger it would be for the best. He didn't fancy taking Ron to Mungo's today nor listen to his whining.

After a hard look, Hermione nodded and handed the tape over. She stripped the oversized t-shirt off revealing a fitted tank top underneath. Having seen her scars, Harry barely blinked, in fact glad to see the wound on her shoulder had healed with only the faintest of scars. Ron, however, stared open-mouthed and completely unabashed at the collection of scars across her body, eyes lingering on the still raw-looking Mudblood carved into her arm now punctuated by another scar.

The fight didn't last long. Harry didn't expect it to, not after the display of her prowess during her nightmare. But he didn't expect to be sent sprawling and held down with a knee between his shoulder blades within a minute. That was embarrassing.

"You're off-kilter." Her voice was even and strong, not even winded. He supposed forty-eight seconds probably shouldn't have winded him either, even though it had. "Your weight needs to be evenly distributed across both feet. You lean forward on your right side as if casting."

The knee at his back moved, allowing him to roll over and look up at her retreat. With entirely too much effort, Harry hoisted himself from the mat and moved to a chair, wishing luck to Ron as he moved to the mat.

His freckles stood out harshly against his pale face as he dropped into the position Hermione had taught them both. For a moment, Harry thought she may go easier on Ron than she had him. Maybe his plan had worked as circled the mat, crouching low. Feigning to the left, Hermione threw an elbow into his unprotected right side catching him in the ribs. He went down in twenty-eight seconds, and when he fell, it was hard, moaning in pain. So much for that.

Harry dropped next to him, running a diagnostic as Ron shouted she surely broke something. Harry doubted his friend as he had a tendency to exaggerate but waited for the results to confirm.

"Oh cut the drama, would you?" Hermione huffed, arms crossed defensively. "It was barely a tap."

Ron glared at her but the shouts did turn into quieter complaints of pain, clearly not as hurt as he tried to seem. Harry tried not to laugh but confirmed it was just a bruised rib.

"But maybe we should call it a day," he added when Ron turned pleading eyes on him. "We're both exhausted. Won't do us any good to get injured because we're tired."

Hermione rolled her eyes but acquiesced, slipping into her room, presumably to go through intel.

Ron sighed when the door clicked shut. "Thanks, mate. Not sure I could take much more of that."

Shaking his head, Harry stood and pulled Ron to his feet. Neither of them saw Hermione the rest of the night.

"Ow, what was that for?" Ron whined, rubbing his leg. He and Harry faced each other on the sparring mats. After yesterday's performance, it was clear neither of them was prepared for a fight with her head on. Yesterday, Hermione let her anger and frustration get the best of her. Today, her demeanor was more shut off, like a time-wearied teacher instructing brand new, arrogant students. Ron almost thought she seemed like Snape.

"You're keeping your legs too far apart," she reprimanded, kicking at his feet until he shifted them closer together. "Makes it harder for you to change directions quickly."

"How come she gets to keep her wand?" he grumbled, earning himself another zap. "And how come Harry isn't getting zapped! Not fair!"

"Because Harry actually listens when I correct his form. You apparently require more motivation. Again."

The boys dropped back into defensive position, slowly circling the mat waiting for the first move. Impatient, Ron swung wildly at Harry's head, who easily ducked. Before he could retaliate, Ron cried out and grabbed at his stomach, Hermione's wand pointed at him.

"What the hell, Hermione?!"

"You're letting your defensive arm get away from you," she instructed, moving his arms into the correct position yet again. "Too concerned about your face. You need to be able to defend your head and torso equally."

"Well if I had a wand-"

Shoving him, she stepped away to stare down on him where he fell. A flash of fear flickered through Ron's eyes as she bore down on him.

"That is entirely the point, Ronald. What happens when you don't? When it's too far away or broken? What would you do then? Surrender? Cower and beg for mercy?"

"No. I'm done with this." Back on his feet, he shouldered past her to the room he shared with Harry.

After shooting Hermione a disapproving look that clearly had no effect on her, Harry followed after Ron.

"She's a nightmare!" Ron shouted once the door closed, silencing charms raising with it. "She can't seriously expect me to fight without a wand."

"She does have a point, Ron. Something could happen to our wands. We need to know how to fight incase that happens. She knows what she's talking about."

"I think she's off her rocker."

"Look, mate," Harry tried to reason. "I get that you're not used to Muggle fighting. That once someone is disarmed the duel is over, but that's not how these people play. It's not gonna matter if you can disarm them. They'll start using non magic means instead. So you need to know how to defend yourself."

"Well why couldn't she just say that?"

Harry didn't point out that she had, several times, just far less tactfully.

"I wanna try again," Harry told her over breakfast. After almost three days of practice, he was feeling confident. Even if he couldn't beat her yet, he would at least make it to a minute this time. "Spar against you. I wanna try again."

She shrugged at him with a wicked smirk. "Suit yourself."

Ron visibly relaxed at the table, grateful for any reprieve from training. Even during Wood's long hours of Quidditch training during finals, he'd never been so sore and tired, crashing every night as soon as they ate dinner. If Harry wanted to take her on, he would gladly sit back and watch under the pretense of "learning".

Once Harry stood across from her, hands taped and sore muscles stretched, he regretted challenging her to a fight so soon. The expression she wore was fierce and determined. He wasn't her friend at the moment; he was her opponent.

"On your go," she told him, standing in a loose defensive position.

The first swing was wildly overshot and easy enough to dodge. At first, she let him enjoy the chase, simply dodging as he attempted to catch her off guard dancing out of each attack. It was a long shot, but he wasn't ready to give up yet.

His next punch, she parried, finally throwing her own fist and striking his side. On instinct, he grabbed her wrist as she pulled away, sending them both sideways to the mat. Even he was surprised at managing to off-balance her.

After a moment of blind grappling, he secured her other wrist, managing to pin them to the mat near her ears.

"Not bad form," she said, looking up into his shocked eyes. "But not quite there."

"What do you-"

Leveraging up, she hooked a leg around his torso as she pushed against his grip, flipping him over to his back and restraining his hands over his head in a single swift move. He stared up at her, helpless to do anything else, pinned by her weight and the shock. Her braid fell over one shoulder, brushing against his cheek.

"Never pin the hands by the ears," she instructed him, grip tightening around his wrists. "You leave too much leverage. Always pin them over the head and keep the legs and hips under your control. Try and move."

But he was having a difficult time paying attention when she was sitting on him. When her face was so close. When he was completely under her control and- He swallowed down the thought as her grip left his wrists. She offered a hand to him, pulling him from the floor, and for a moment, it reminded him of DA, of better times. If only it could be that simple again.