NEAR GAIRLOCH, THE HIGHLANDS, SCOTLAND
The next morning

Sam looked around, ignoring the titters from a red-headed corner with an obstinate chin. She was trying not to start out insulting people (well, okay, maybe she would rather, but had been warned off it), and those idiots were making it really difficult.

"I'm going to bury you in the ground, Weasley," Fred mock-growled at George, elbowing him sharply in the ribs.

George stomped on his twin's toes and rolled his eyes. "You'd have to catch me first, you cheese-eating surrender monkey."

"I am not French!" Fred yelled in pretend outrage, slapping George upside the head.

"Let's begin with some stretches," Sam said, almost shouting, her face flushing darker the louder the twins became. "It's important, very important, not to stretch too hard and hurt yourself. You want a slight pull of your muscles and for your body to warm up, for your muscles to relax, even." Someone kill me now, she begged silently. Put me out of my misery. Wincing, she demonstrated a few poses and nodded as her 'class' followed her example after a collective pause heavy with hesitation.

After several minutes of static stretching, she encouraged them to jump up and down as fast as they could to further loosen their muscles.

"Now, we're going to run for a mile." It had almost killed her this morning to ask Snape to clear a path around the field for them to run on and to Transfigure several water bottles, but he hadn't reacted. He'd commented after he was done that three laps would be equivalent to a mile, more or less, and walked away without a backwards glance. Relieved, she'd gone back to her breakfast. "Three laps around the field, and no fooling around." She eyed the twins warily. It was a good thing they were fixing to split back up. "We're going to be jogging this morning. Set a pace you can keep. This isn't a competition and I don't want to see any sprinting. You need to build up your endurance."

After they walked to the altered field, Sam urged them to stop before they took off. "A few things first. I doubt many of you know how to breathe properly," she ignored the hearty chuckles at this comment and pushed on, "and this is something you should practice as much as you can. Breathe in through your nose and out through your mouth. And I don't mind you drinking water as you go-in fact, you should, but you'll not be stopping for a break. Drink while you walk. Let's go."

She set a decent pace and had been enjoying the exercise when the twins made their way up behind her and commented to each other how much they were enjoying the view. Sam's fingers balled up into fists and she grit her teeth as she tried to ignore them.

Finally deciding she couldn't stand their inane chatter another second longer, Sam whirled and jogged around them, her jaw set dangerously, focusing on how everyone was doing. The younger ones were doing fine, for the most part, though the girl with short, curly hair was struggling a bit.

"Okay, now, pair up." Sam rubbed her brow and studied the group before her. Pathetic, most of them. Before they tackled defensive moves, she was going to have to whip them into shape. Everyone paired up rather quickly, and Sam glared at them all. "Ten sets of twenty sit-ups, now. Stand on your partner's feet, and no cheating."

Everyone stared at her for a few seconds, but there was no grumbling as they moved to do what she said.

A few were obviously very out of shape, and rather than feeling sorry for them, she pushed them harder. "Up, up, up! Go all of the way down and all of the way up. You," she pointed at the red-headed girl who was spotting Mrs. Weasley, "keep her feet planted firmly on the ground."

The girl glared at her and whispered, "You can do it, Mum," but Sam ignored any anger directed her way. She wasn't here to make friends.

She considered going walking in the evening, and she decided to invite Molly along. She, especially, looked like she was in her own personal hell.

She could run on her own afterwards, maybe. She hadn't gotten to run properly since The Fall. After everyone else had finished, Sam approached Molly, who had just started her sixth set and was looking rather red in the face, and knelt down on one knee beside her. She spoke very quietly, "That's enough for now, Mrs. Weasley," she glanced up at her daughter and then back down to Molly, "I'd like for you to do half of each set for now, and work your way up."

Standing up, Sam brushed her knee off and ordered them all to take a water break. Most everyone sprawled out on the ground. The twins even laid down and stretched out, moaning that they were done in and pretty sure they had died twice.

I'll show them done in, the babies.

Shock and awe?

Shock and awe.

She gave them exactly thirty-three seconds. "Alright, on your feet!"

Everyone on the ground jumped up, looking startled. Sam fought back a grin.

"Now that your break's over," her eyebrow rose deliberately, "let's move on to defense. We'll start with a demonstration. Any volunteers?" Sam asked sweetly, knowing exactly who would volunteer and looking forward to knocking him down a peg or two. Or three or four.

The twins immediately jumped at the chance, and Sam nodded at a random one, gesturing for him to come forward as she took and adjusted her stance.

He grinned down at her, probably feeling he had unfair odds because he was a sizable opponent and she was tiny.

Sam allowed herself a small, dark smile. "You want to stay at a forty-five degree angle from your assailant's chest, and if you're going to attack, stay within an arm's length away." She moved in closer, angling her body for everyone to see, and his grin grew. "Trust your instincts. Pay attention to your footwork. Fight dirty; in a life or death situation, it's all or nothing." She nodded at him. "Okay, attack me," she urged.

He paused for a second, not sure exactly what to do, but then he tried to grab her, clearly not comfortable trying to hit her. Sam sidestepped and weaved around, raising her brow and silently taunting him to do better than that. He obliged, reaching out again, this time with more force and accuracy, and Sam let him think he had her before she twisted out, smashing her heel down on his foot and throwing a sharp elbow to his ribs as hard as she could.

He gasped for breath and Sam whirled until she was just within his arm's reach and gestured mockingly. "C'mon, princess. What are you waiting for? Hit me."

His eyes narrowed and he shook his head, taking a few steps towards her.

Sam smiled and waited until he was lunging to throw her own punch, catching him in the nose, using his own inertia to add more power to the impact. Blood started flowing, but he didn't take time to wipe it away. Instead, he lunged, intending to tackle her, she thought, and she brought her knee up and caught him in the gut.

"Oof," escaped him, and he pivoted, trying to catch her as she circled around him.

Sam threw a sharp jab with her hand to his throat, catching him off-guard, then extended her leg and kicked him back as hard as she could, sending him sprawling to the ground.

He lay there and threw his arm over his eyes. He started laughing after he caught his breath. His twin approached him as Sam started talking to the rest of the group about what moves might work best for them.

Fred stared down at his twin, a huge grin on his face. "George, you dead?"

"Yeah, man." He groaned and turned on all fours, getting up with difficulty. "Fred?"

"Aye, mate?"

"I'm in love."


MANAROLA, RIOMAGGIORE, NORTHERN ITALY
Later that day

Working with Isa and Septima would be nothing short of a dream come true. Hermione stared around the open expanse of the witches' villa with wide eyes and couldn't believe her luck. Just for precaution, she pinched herself.

Septima and Isa shared grins and frog-marched her inside.

"Benvenuto! Now, Hermione," Isa Bocelli began, enunciating with great care, "it is very important that you feel at home here. You're more than a guest, and we're very happy to have you join our team."

Septima crowed. "Happy? I think she means, over the moon! Ecstatic! Euphoric—!"

Isa tutted. "Yes, yes, all those too. Ima, really. You go on so and the poor child is going to think you've quite—"

"Quite what, exactly?" Septima cut in.

Isa smiled serenely. "Quite lost your marbles." She winked at Hermione, who was trying and failing not to laugh. Ignoring Septima's playful sputtering, Isa offered their newest team-mate a cup of tea.

Hermione managed, "Yes, thank you very much," while she tried to further school her features into something somewhat dignified.

Over the course of the afternoon, the two older witches showed no signs of letting up where sniping at each other was concerned, but Hermione found the banter less cutting than humorous. It was unexpected, and as time flew by, Hermione laughed more throughout the day than she had in the last four years combined. Their work was long and alarmingly over her head, but never tedious, and Hermione couldn't believe it when the dinner hour was announced to be long gone by the distant tolling of a church's bell.

"Santo cielo! (Good heavens!) It is this late already? Signorina, why do you not tell us we are starving you half to death?"

Hermione shook her head with a smile. "I hadn't noticed."

"Who's got time to worry about silly things like food when there's books about, is that it?" Septima teased, poking Hermione lightly with her sharp elbow.

"Pretty much, yeah," Hermione admitted, chuckling.

Nine o'clock in the evening found the three witches around a small, circular glass table on the patio loaded down with a platter of caciotta cheese, grapes, crackers, salami, and three goblets of wine, one slightly watered down.

Suddenly famished, the three ate with gusto and obvious enjoyment, though Isa couldn't help informing Hermione that neither she nor Septima were much in the way of cooks. "Cold plates for the foreseeable future, I am afraid."

"I've suffered worse, trust me," Hermione said after a particularly delicious bite.

", I know you have this, dear."

Septima raised her glass with a sad smile, her eyes unnaturally bright. "To a brighter future."

Isa and Hermione clinked their glasses against Septima's with great assent.

"Cento di questi giorni," Isa toasted, "I wish you a hundred of this days."


"George, you dead?" "Yeah, man." :: Borrowed for fun from the movie Cool Runnings

cheese-eating surrender monkey(s) :: UK insult for the French. Uh, sorry if you're French. No hate, I just love funny insults. :)

Benvenuto! :: Welcome!