AN: Thank you for all the reviews and follows! I'm seriously stoked!

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Chapter 7

"Pain is the best and most reliable teacher," Tyt'o had called to Theodore and Draco as they had gingerly walked up the great stairway to their rooms above. Their entire bodies aflame with the first aches of what would be pain and soreness come the next morning, with certainty. Neither spoke much to the other, but entered their rooms covered in dust, and the stickiness of sweat from riding hours upon hours under the warm sun. It was early evening now, and supper would be set upon the setting of the sun, as Ursa Gresham had told them when they had hobbled back to the keep within Gresham Castle.

Following the race Hermione had set them upon, of which Theodore had ultimately won, they had made the journey back to the castle as a hushed group. After Draco's aggressive proclamation on the supposed worth of their Dragons, she had neither spoken a single word to them, nor cast a single glance to Draco. Tyt'o had remained equally as stoic beside her in an unspoken solidarity.

Theodore in particular had taken notice of how, from the very start, Hermione had put a distance between her person and Draco. However, now it was more pronounced after Draco's scathingly pointed choices in words. He wasn't going to be the one to break any silences in the group; none of them were friendly at this point.

Draco was seething behind his teeth, practically hissing inside his own mouth. Theodore had bested him in the race, and now the pair of Gresham nitwits were expecting him to what, "comb" the horses? What did that even mean? He'd never laid a hand on an animal like this until today? What in Hades was he combing? Where were the family elves, for that matter? His mind was racing in fury as he silently distained his counterpart for his victory against his person.

Nincompooping sarding blockheaded dalcop. Draco rambled to himself wordlessly, grumbling even though he held his head high, feigning a proud facade. His loss to Theodore Nott had taught him what combing out a beast of burden had entailed. Not that Theodore's victory had spared him any work, simply not work that was quite as involved as Draco's. The horses were dusty, covered in dried sweat from a days ride and needed to be hitched to a shaded post, combed –moving with the grain of the hairs- Tyt'o had been overly specific about that detail. Then rubbed down with a clean and soft cloth before Theodore had taken them each to their pen with fresh water, hay and grains.

Draco was covered in the filth from these animals. Hair, dirt, quite possibly even dung, he was certain of it. These creatures expelled waste like the world around them was one vast toilet. While combing out the second of the horses, it had decided to eject a stream of hot urine all over the dry ground in the stable, which had caused Draco to leap back in a yelp, revolted at the very sight. He was sure he caught a side-eye from that demon-beast, and he was even further certain that it was on purpose.

Under the watchful supervision of Tyt'o, for Hermione wouldn't come within two arms lengths of him, and continued in her refusal to so much as look at him, he was shown how to take care of the animals in turn. Though Tyt'o explained why such work was needed, and how it helped the horse to stay healthful to be cleaned, Draco found himself in contempt of the obligation. His fingernails were blackened underneath with unknown contamination. His light hair was dusted darker with substances he couldn't identify yet he abhorred utterly.

By the fourth and final horse, he felt his body so utterly spent that at the beginning of the combing he had leaned against the beast in support of his legs, which felt boneless within his body. His comb moving over the body of the animal much slower than previously. He felt a rumbling noise within the body of that beast, followed unexpectedly with the motion that it had turned and its whuffling muzzle was next to his free ear. Too tired to shoo it off, he felt the warm breath snuffling along his hair and neck, and a gentle bop bop bop as two velvety lips covered with tickly whiskers explored his hair and ears, though with great gentleness.

Draco pushed up and away from the animal lest it take a chunk out of his ear! "Mangy, foul creature," he told it, leaning away. The horses great brown head snaked further in to grab at him again with those dry lips, surely to take a piece of him with those huge teeth within. Still gripping the brush he flailed it between himself and the horse, and yet the animal continued to seek around it dodging his pathetic comb-waving as though it was a game, quite calm and curious about him. It's ears were pricked forward and it gave a very short nicker to him as he'd moved towards its hind end in his haste to move away from the perceived threat.

Cautiously, and with a sneer still on his face and wary posture, he'd moved back to finish the combing, while the horse continued to poke at his clothes and snuffle most pointedly around where his pockets would be located. It was perhaps looking for something?

"You are an imbecile," Hermione said from behind him, and Draco turned, breaking out of his task. "He's not going to chew your face off, he's looking for a treat." She rolled her eyes at him, and from her hip-pack, she pulled a long orange object out and tossed it under-hand to Draco. His dominant hand occupied with the comb, Draco bluffed disinterest and let the object hit the floor. Hermione scoffed as she turned, muttering about his idiocy until Draco could see she'd walked somewhere out of sight. He leaned over and picked up the item, not understanding what it was. The horse did though, and strained against his tether to make his lipping noises as he gave a light and begging nicker at Draco. His big brown ears pressed forward in interest at Draco's hand.

Slowly, Draco pushed the object toward the mouth of the horse as it used those velour soft lips that kept flapping to pick the item up from his hand. It was swooped into the mouth as it began chewing and crunching and nodding its head up and down as Draco gaped at the thing, having no understanding of what was happening. The horse finished the morsel quickly and sniffed at his hand for anything else he might be hiding. Finding nothing, it contented itself to press that soft nose into his hand, for a spell before Draco cupped the softness in his hand and gave it a gentle rubbing. The horse seemed to enjoy this for it held its head there until he stopped.

The show of gentility surprised Draco. No prior experiences with any animal, he was not certain what to make of the interaction, nor of what –exactly- he seemed to have fed this creature. Though, it surely enjoyed it. Draco chuckled as he noted that the horse had been quite greedy about consuming the item. "Was your tidbit quite enjoyable then, you great monster?" He asked it, a little playfully. The horse, not knowing what he was saying, still responded to the tone of his voice by bringing his head up and waggling his lips on the side of Draco's head. Draco put his hand up and gently applied pressure to protect himself. The horse took his direction without complaint and Draco let out a barking sign through his nose at the connection they had shared for that moment, and continued with his task of combing.

Around the corner where the doorway to the tack room stood, Hermione has listened to the exchange without watching, and felt herself a little taken aback at the way the horse –her's, ironically- had shown an interest in the strange youth. The horses in the Gresham stables were always broken with patience and affection, and the animals they bred were solely possessing of a good nature. There wasn't a cruel hair on their entire being, and they didn't know any a person to be different no matter what caste of man he was. From the mere stable hands, to the great Lord of the House himself, they were all the same to the horse. It was curious to her, that the horse still sought out so innocently to engage the young Malfoy.

When the horses were cleaned, and put back to stable for the night, the Gresham's had led their motley duo back into the keep and separated to their own rooms. Presumably to clean and dress for dinner.

Draco's feet felt as though they were made of the very rocks beneath the earth that the great God of Death had created the underworld with. Every step was near agony, and it seemed that despite any verbal complaints, Theodore moved with a stiffness quite like his own. As they topped the stairs, they gave each other a mutual nod of the head and wordlessly escaped to their own rooms.

Wanting nothing more than to collapse into peace and tranquility, Draco opened his room to find that his bed had been laid clean and smooth, which was a farther cry from the disheveled state he had left it. The bed, though notably uncomfortable the night previous, was suddenly quite appealing to him now that his every bone and muscle cried out to be released from use.

He automatically began the stripping of his clothes from his doublet, vest, and shirt, until he noted that a great metal tub had been situated to the right end of his room, behind a screen. It steamed plentifully, and he felt the memory of hot water across his body move him nearly to sigh audibly in anticipation. He finished the removal of his clothing, leaving them in a line to the door of his room as he approached the tub with his mind fixed at this single purpose.

The water was deliciously hot, to the point where it nearly hurt to plunge himself in it. His young body cried in release of its tension as he lowered into the sizzling waters, and he let loose a breath he had not realized he was holding, sinking himself until his entire body was covered, past his head. The deep tub allowed him to immerse himself sublimely in the heat and he held his breath as he did, for as long as he could. Surfacing, he'd leaned into the curve along the back to relish the curative warming over his body, feeling himself drift into comforts he felt he might have forgotten if it hadn't been for this god-send.

As his conscious slipped from him, he leaned his head to a curvature in the side of the tub, an indentation that felt, oddly, as though it were made for this very act alone. In that moment it was as if he were home again, without a single worry imaginable.

…..

Draco had not appeared for the meal by that evening, though neither Lady nor Lord Gresham was terribly alarmed by this. Theodore had waited by Draco's door, and even knocked a time or two to receive no answer following his own bath after their long day riding. The stretch of muscle from his inner knee all the way to his groin was especially tender, despite the long soak in the welcome hot bath that had awaited him as well upon returning to the keep.

So thus, Theodore had made the trip to the family hall alone, and had entered to find the scene much different from the one in the morning. The great table was set with great dishes and candelabras lighting the room with a soft light. Unlike the quaintness of the morning, the Lord and Lady were seated at the opposite ends of the table and their children closer to the parent of the same gender. Only one seat remained vacant, closer to Tyt'o and Loren at one end. As Theodore entered, he realized he'd joined them late. Which, despite that he was a guest, albeit one not as welcomed as others, showed poor manners on his part. He approached the end of the table where Lord Loren Gresham sat and bowed deeply without prompting. "I have kept your family waiting, My Lord, and for that inconsideration I apologize."

House alliances notwithstanding the boy did have good manners, Ursa was inclined to admit, and Loren acknowledged him with a raised hand. "There is nothing here to forgive, young Nott, this is a family table, and you are here as our guest. Your day has been long, and the first rides take their toll on a pupil." Theodore bowed again and took his seat.

Plates had already been served by the Houses staff, and attendants still bustled around the table pouring drinks and bringing additional accoutrements. The food before him looked savory and inviting, and inside his closed mouth he watered involuntarily at such a sight. Observing the family had begun the consumption of the food, Theodore started in on his own, careful to pay respect when dining as a guest.

His first bites felt like heaven, and only after he'd done it did he realize he'd closed his eyes for much longer than a single blink, until he snapped them back open. What revelation was this that this food was to bring him back to true life after such a day of hard work? For riding was just that; it a difficulty he'd never realized. In his very core he felt the warmth of that fare bringing him back to the plains of the living.

His ecstasy did not go unnoticed. "The first rides are always the hardest, Theodore," Ursa explained between delicate bites. "Your meals are wrought not only with the food that you see, but brews to fortify you for a restful sleep, and replenish what you have spent in energies this day." She smiled at him warmly, presenting openness and warmth. Theodore could have smiled at her, just then. Her face was so welcoming and kind, that he forgot himself as he felt his energy restore with every mouthful he took. "Tomorrow, and every day after, will always be easier." She assured him, finally.

The meal passed with the Greshams conversing congenially together. Discussing where Tyt'o and Hermione had taken their wards riding, and what was shown to each youth when it came time to comb and care for each animal. Loren seemed particularly interested in hearing that Draco, their misplaced guest, had been the one to comb all four of the animals ridden. He presented no questions to his children's methods, which Theodore observed offhandedly as the man seemed to genuinely listen to his own children. As though their information was valuable counsel to him. Theodore had never been permitted to speak to his father in such a fashion, and he found it curious still that there was such equal share of consideration. Hermione's contribution carried as much weight as Tyt'o's.

When his food was consumed and he felt his body wholly contented, he leaned back into his chair as the discussion carried on between the Lord and his Children. Though Ursa sat at a farther part to the table, she sat back as he did with a goblet resting gently between her fingers, covering her mouth without drinking from it. She watched Theodore closely as he took in the dynamic so openly on display from her family and considered then, that he had no siblings of his own. Nor mother, it would seem, if information served her true. She wondered, then, what exchanges occurred at the table of his own House then, if he were so keen to watch what was happening her at the one they sat at presently.

Ursa had never attended with her Lord husband when he made travel to Houses from Malfoy, Nott, or any of the others that currently opposed the Guild. Loren considered Ursa's safety paramount, and brokered no disagreement on that front. Thusly, she had no knowledge of the Ladies of those Houses, save for whispers within letters she exchanged through the Houses in alignment to the Guild.

The report of the days work had ebbed away into a heated, yet friendly debate among Tyt'o and his father, with the occasional interjection from Hermione, about which of their younger stallions would be fit this autumn for breeding. At this point, the conversation had no longer posed of any interest for Theodore, as he didn't have any background or interest in the topic. At some point, Hermione had vacated her seat, and drug her chair noisily across the wood floor to situate herself closer to the end of the table, oblivious to any decorum and only interested in closing the gap between her brother and herself.

Gracefully, Ursa leaned herself toward Theodore and her hand gently rested on his forearm to catch his attention. When he looked to Ursa she smiled at him. Her bronze colored eyes were dark in the candlelight, but expressed a tenderness to him that caused him to feel uncertain. The kindness in her touch was foreign and while politeness dictated him to allow her the contact, his inexperience with it caused him discomfort. "You need not stay here, young Theodore," she said softly. "Come; walk me to the stairs so I can see you to bed. Your rest tonight will help you regain your strength again for the morning." She tilted her head toward the door very gently. He nodded slowly, and rose quietly to leave with her.

The trio of Greshams at the end of the table had not taken note of their mother leaving the table until Loren stood abruptly, aware that his Lady wife had risen. Tyt'o followed him as well and the conversation died down suddenly. She raised a hand to them and smiled. "Our guest has had a long day, and needs to rest for the 'morrow." She smiled to her husband, so sweetly and filled with love, that Theodore felt himself almost jealous to see a woman so kind to bestow such adoration upon another being. He raised his elbow to her, dutifully and as a proper man of breeding would, and Ursa accepted it by alighting her hand on it gently.

Theodore walked with Ursa quietly as the remaining Greshams returned to their seats, and as they exited hall seemed to pick their heated discussion back up again. The two walked silently together the short distance to the great stairs. To accompany the other any further would be seen as an act of impropriety otherwise as they were unrelated

At the base of the stairs, Theodore turned to Ursa and made to bid her a good evening when she placed a hand on his shoulder and smiled to him. "Take your rest tonight, Theodore. The days to come will bring more training as before until the master tutors return. Until then, Tyt'o and Hermione will see to your study on riding." Theodore nodded.

"My lady, if it not be too impertinent…." He hesitated in his question, and Ursa entreated him as kindly as she was capable.

"Yes, Theodore?"

"Your daughter spoke today of the Dragons, but briefly, telling us how they lose themselves when they brood?" Ursa nodded her understanding. "What meant she by this?" There was no malice, not ill intent behind the question. Truly Theodore possessed only scant knowledge of what a Dragon was surely to be.

"Theodore, there is much to be learned yet of Dragons in the months to come and Dragon behavior is but one facet of what you will learn in this journey to transcendence. This day has been long, and an answer to your query be yet longer still. Take your rest this evening, and your inquiries can be answered in the morn, when we take a meal again." She smiled, and touched his chin with a motherly tenderness that caused Theodore to feel a gentle heat in his cheeks. Her smile gave her eyes a little crinkle and while still young and beautiful her face had a sagely quality in its calmness. He looked upon her, and against all the teachings of his father, he felt that her word could be trusted.

"My Lord husband is the rider of our casts great sire, Goldoduur, and he can help assuage any questions you and young Sir Malfoy have about our Dragons. Remembering that Draco had not joined him that evening, his face pricked up with realization.

"You speak but true, good Lady." He acknowledged, though not daring to tell her of the slander Draco had spoken to Hermione while they rode their laps that afternoon. He was certain that she would learn of it soon enough, however. Seeing her smile so kindly at him, and comparing that to the clear enmity it had caused her daughter, he found himself filled with pangs of discontent knowing she would hear of the callousness. Would she still bestow upon him her kind and inviting expressions knowing what his comrade had implied? "It would be better to have Draco present to ask his own questions as well." Theodore's hand found Ursas' at his elbow, and he bowed to her as a youth of proper upbringing should.

"Then we shall meet again by the morrow." Ursa told him, and provided her nod of acceptance at his courtesy. Theodore headed up the stairs, realizing again that his body, while replenished greatly with the meal provided, was very much aching to be rested.

As Ursa returned to the great hall where the voices of her family gradually became louder as she approached, she pondered then on her observations of the young Theodore Nott. How her contact with his person had caused him to petrify momentarily. His stiffness at their brief walk to the stairs. Though they had spent little time in his presence, she sensed that this youth was not one raised with any gentle or casual affections of a mother.

She dwelled on that possibility still again, and formulated that a young man without a mother was much like a man of the sea with no stars with which to guide his journey. She felt a little sadness prickle her as she thought of what would have become her own children had Ursa succumbed to any number of possible ends of her life. Many women, though there were many magicks to heal and prolong life, and combat great sickness, still lost their lives in childbirth. Much as Ursa had at the birth of Hermione, causing Loren to decide afterward that the necessity of additional heirs was unnecessary. Though they had never stopped sharing their marital bed, he had begged her to concede her fertility to ensure her life never be placed in jeopardy.

Ursa ceased her walk at the entry to their hall and observed her two very healthy and wondrous children as they spoke both openly and passionately with the husband she loved so deeply. Ursa smiled openly and thanked all the Gods for the fortunes of health, happiness and prosperities in their lives. Many families were unable to conceive any children entirely, and even when they did there were multitudes of perils awaiting children regardless. Her own mother had suffered the loss of one of her own babes only days after she brought him into the world. Ursa had been a young girl, but the sounds of her mothers agony for that loss as she cried endlessly in grief still haunted Ursa as a mother herself.

To watch her children and husband before her, she knew her life was filled with blessings she would thank the Gods for every day, until her last day. It was a true shame that any child in this world, regardless of what House they were born into, to have to be raised without the warmth of a mothers love.

…

Hermione knocked softly at the door to her mother's chambers. It was well after time for the girl to have gone to sleep, but Hermione had felt a pull within her after their daylong ride with Theodore and Draco. She craved reassurances from her mother as only a child could following a revelation.

The door opened and Hermione slipped in quietly at her mother's silent welcome. The room was an antechamber to the shared marital rooms, which she knew her father would be waiting for Ursa within. This room beside it was entirely her mother's area. A place the children had spent many nights with her in, while young. If they were frightened, or slept fitfully. Even as wee babes, they been there with here in their earliest years, asleep suckling at her breast through the night contentedly. It wasn't until they had become older children that Ursa had begun moving them to their own beds, and eventually to their own rooms. This room, for both Tyt'o and herself Hermione was certain, held memories of comfort and safety for him as it did her.

"Darling, what has you up so late?" Her mother asked, softly taking Hermione's hands into her own. She could see the trepidation written across her face, and gently pulled her to a decorated setee within the room sit beside her.

Everything she had kept bottled inside her through that day came tumbling out in a bubbled cry between tears and a wail as she flung her arms around her mother in a desperate embrace. Hot tears that had been held back on so many instances through the day when she replayed Draco Malfoy's words in her mind, their sinister implication had fueled her emotional state perpetually. Within the warmth of her mother's arms she released everything she held back. As she let loose and sobbed, Ursa held her closely and smoothed her hand gently over her daughters curled hair, soothing her with gentle shushing noises, as she would when Hermione was a baby.

Ursa didn't rush her daughter, she simply held her, smoothing her hair, and gentle rocked her as she cried into her mother's chest. It had been a hard day for more than just their guests had, it appeared. When Hermione's sobbing slowed until there were but a few hiccups, she raised from her mother's embrace, her eyes puffy and rimmed red and her cheeks tracked with tear marks. Ursa searched her daughters face with great care. "What gives you sorrow, my truest love?"

Hermione almost couldn't help herself, and felt more tears culminating at her eyes, blurring Ursa's face. There was so much she wanted to say, to blurt out; the incessant tension at having foreigners in their home, the malicious undertones of Draco's words, the terror she felt as she kept replaying the scenario in her mind where they failed to present their wards and she and her brothers lives were forfeit in raging inferno high within the mountains. The stress of it pressed down in her skull and the only place she could find release was through her eyes, it seemed.

Seeing her child's distress caused Ursa's chest to tighten protectively in an instinctual fight or flight response. Had something untoward occurred today? Was she harmed? Ursa's concern suddenly became her own panic. "Hermione," she urged, "Tell me what's happened, my love."

"I- th-th-th-ink Draco is going to h-harm the D-D-Dragons," She managed to stammer out, between hiccups and tears. She was beginning to become overly inconsolable, and Ursa fought her own emotions to take a deep breath and center her own mind before she called forth her magic, and incanted a calming wave as her hand swept over the back of Hermione's hair, and down her back. It bathed her with serenities and tranquility to bring her heightened excitement back down again.

A mother's magical ministrations knew no equal for a child. Hermione felt the refreshing magic strip her growing hysterics away from her mind gently and took her own deep breaths to chase away the remains. Wiping away the remains of her tears, she tried again to speak her fears to her mother.

The days events came flowing from her mouth like a river she couldn't stop: Draco's obstinacy, his latent implication, her own conclusions of his true purposes. Ursa listened diligently through her half-sobs and sniffles as her daughter held nothing back. When she had finished and her tears were dried, held her daughter close and tenderly.

"Trust you your father's wisdom, my love?" Hermione nodded.

"In everything, mama."

"What think you when young Malfoy will stand before our Dragons, then, sweeting?" Ursa challenged. The vision of her Lords great Dragon, and his fierce burning eyes as a guide for her question. "Think you he could bleed Goldoduur? The Mammoth?" For that was what his name meant.

Hermione shook her head. Fathers Dragon was the oldest in the lands, and had never been tethered to roost inside a dwelling or shelter and had grown far beyond expectation. His magnitude was undeniable, and terrifying. When Hermione was a small child, she had cried in terror the first time Goldoduur had brought his blazing gold eyes down to examine her as his riders female offspring. That was the first time Hermione had heard Dragon laughter: It was as a low rumbling noise, much like that of rolling thunder in far-off mountain peaks. It vibrated her to her very bones, and while her eyes beheld a great and fearsome creature, her soul recognized her ancestor's legacy. Her legacy, one day.

She shook her head, looking at her hands in her lap and feeling slightly foolish at her worries just then. A Dragon could not be cut down so simply. Certainly, they had vulnerabilities; especially they young Dragons. But it was arrogance to assume they could not be harmed at all as a Dragon itself was possessed of its own magics that proved difficult to overcome. Feats of powerful and dark magic were used to bring harm to Dragons, the likes of which were mostly unknown in the world anymore. It was many hundreds of years past since there were needs to pass such practices down as wild Dragons were so few, and far between.

"I think you will find that when the time comes, my love, the young Malfoy will find himself quite amazed at how difficult such a machination will prove." Ursa smoothed a stray lock behind her daughter's ear, tenderly. "Should he become every bit as good a rider as you or your brother, a bond with a Dragon….." she trailed off a bit wistfully. "That, my dearest, is forever."

Her parents had spoken many times of Dragon bonds, as had the masters and tutors they had learned from their whole lives. But true understanding of how it worked and what it would feel like still alluded her. It was yet one of their final lessons it seemed they would learn.

Hermione reached her hands around her mother and embraced her, and Ursa squeezed her tightly in return as she continued the subtle rocking of their bodies. The fire and candle light around them in the comfortable room provided a gentle ambiance that soothed them together. As much as she could, Ursa pushed magic from her body silently in their embrace and wrapped the two of them in it as a protective cloak filled with love and assurance. As a mother, Ursa would stop at nothing to protect her children, and in these coming months, she felt that much more than just tears would be shed as more challenges would arise to be vanquished.

…

Chapter vocab:

"Dalcop": Cop is an old work for head, making dalcop (literally a dull-head) a stupid person.

**In case it was vague; Hermione tossed Draco a carrot. Draco is the kind of bloke who wouldn't have seen a carrot before it was prepared into something edible, so the implication is that he's so far removed from common items and objects that this process for him faces him with many alien concepts.