Last week had been fun, Draco Malfoy reflected as he looked at the sorry state of the so-called warriors he had to train. This would not be pleasant. Oh, he didn't want any of them in harm's way of course (he hardly wanted that for Potter, and Potter was the Boy Who Lived To Be Reckless, as Snape was often heard to say - followed often by that spine-chilling dark laugh of his).
Draco Malfoy was confident he was no coward - at least not when it came to spending other people's lives. No, it was a Gryffindor vice to worry about the trees until they lost sight of the forest. As for his own life? Well, that was yet unproven. Draco didn't know which way he'd fall, though he realized that it would be awfully embarrassing to be the only one who ran away. He didn't spend much time thinking about it - there were some bridges that you'd cross when you came to them. And, if necessary, burn them black behind you.
Pansy Parkinson, it turned out, hated taking orders. She was quite qualified as a witch - less so as a warrior, but as a solider? She'd need to be ground and reground and rehoned on top of it all if you wanted her to be that.
So, Draco Malfoy did the sensible thing, and put her in charge.
It was almost worth it to hear her yelling at Vince, when he failed to obey her order precisely when she had given it, and had gotten burnt for her trouble.
Healing, Draco Malfoy thought absently as he dove to the floor to escape a stray hex from Daphne, that's what we need to learn. Even the basics weren't really taught at Hogwarts, well, except for Episkey and the most basic of healing potions. It was one thing to have a shield, but any practical battle training would end in injuries.
Maybe next week, Draco Malfoy thought, submerging himself in his reactions and letting off some steam. Trapped in a small flat with so many Slytherins was hardly conducive to calm tempers.
[a/n: Busy, busy. Granger's less busy, so we're going to check in with her less. Leave a review?]