The next day, when Hermione slammed her tray of food against the table at breakfast, Arthur and Gabrielle jumped.
Gabrielle raised her doe eyes at her as she took a seat beside her. "Not a good night?"
She poked her fork aggressively into her eggs. They were too wet and sloppy for her taste, but she still refused to waste food. "This prick got into my head," she sighed. "Telling me I shouldn't make friends, that I should train seriously."
Arthur took a sip of his water, before dabbing his mouth with a paper napkin. "Lucius' son?" he guessed.
"Yeah,Trainer Malfoy." She rolled her eyes to accentuate her sarcasm. Her mood was foul. The shrill alarm at 7am didn't exactly contribute to a peaceful awakening either, even though she'd spent half the night curled up in her itchy blanket, kicking it down her feet, then wrapping herself in it again.
This morning, however, she had seen Malfoy's words come true: her uniform had indeed been cleaned at midnight. She'd kept it on all night, but had woken up and felt the difference straight away—no sweat, no dirt, no smell of grass and soil.
"I wonder why he would say that to you," Arthur pondered.
Gabrielle watched her intently. "Do you have history with him or something?"
She glanced at Arthur briefly before chewing a piece of toast. "Yes. Well— not really. It's complicated." She dropped her toasted bread onto her plate. "Ancient school rivalry."
Arthur narrowed his eyes on her. "It was more than that, Hermione. He called you names, Ron said." A shadow passed over his face at the mention of his son.
She softened. "He did call me names. But he was just a boy—that's how he was raised." Why was she making excuses for him? He had been just a boy, but even at sixteen, he should have been able to think for himself. How much weight did his parents hold over his head during his childhood? Even during his adolescence?
"I'm not so sure he's entirely different now," he replied.
She couldn't find a proper response and continued eating, pondering his words. Was Malfoy still doing what he was told? Was he living with his parents still? She hadn't seen Lucius or Narcissa yet, but she suspected they were somewhere in the Empire, still carrying out their Death Eater duties. But Malfoy seemed... different from his teenage self.
His malice was different. Instead of being vicious, he was cold. He didn't have the same posture. And above all, the look in his eyes... It was less hateful, more... haunted. Broken. Like he had seen things. Like he was forced to keep a secret that hurt his soul.
A few minutes later, Ashley joined them at their table. She had rolled up the sleeves of her uniform to her elbows and tied her hair into a low ponytail.
"Hey, guys," she greeted them.
You're not here to make friends. His words haunted her mind now, bouncing around in the corners of her head, tainting the feelings of empathy that usually inhabited her.
But she pushed them away. "Hey, Ashley." She was proud and pleased that she'd remembered the names of all the players in her band. And she could prove it by calling them by name. They were humans before numbers, after all—even if they would die in two months.
Ashley looked at them one by one before peering over her shoulder to make sure she wasn't overheard. "Okay, somebody tell me what's the deal with our trainer and his dog."
"What doyou mean?" Gabrielle asked, tone melodious as a chime.
"Why does he have a dog?" Ashley frowned. "I looked at the other trainers. And the… what are they called? Gamemasters.Nobodyhas a dog."
"Right, you're allergic," Hermione said, suddenly remembering Ashley sneezing the day before.
Ashley looked at her, annoyed. "It's not about allergies. He just gives off a dark vibe, wandering around with a dog. Like a lone ranger or something. He doesn't use a leash. What if that animal decides to rip our faces off when he's hungry?"
"She," Hermione corrected automatically, murmuring, but nobody heard.
"It's just his pet." Arthur shrugged.
Ashley rolled her eyes, clearly irritated with their lack of response. "Whatever."
They finished eating in ten minutes, then set off to their training.
Hermione tried running with the band for a while, trying to keep Francine out of her mind. She kept the same pace as the others, pushing through the throb in her shins and her thighs. Her lungs felt too small in her ribcage, as if they could barely expand with oxygen. And they were burning—tongues of fire licked her chest with every breath.
Malfoy had ordered them to do exactly the same as yesterday. Four minutes of walking, one minute of jogging, thirty seconds of sprinting. He said they would make progress over the next two months. The first week was going to be the same set of intervals. And from the second week, the intensity would gradually increase so that by October, they could focus solely on running.
She was good at sprinting. The few first sprints of the training felt good, her legs pumping her forward like a thunderbolt. She felt alive—and free—for thirty seconds. But it drained her so fast that the rest of the training was painful and very challenging.
Right now, it was the fifth walking interval. They would soon start to jog.
And she was heaving like a dog.
She couldn't imagine what Francine was feeling.
A tug of guilt gripped her, rushing to her head.
She looked up—Malfoy was 20 metres ahead. Luke and Reine right behind him. Ashley. Oliver. Gabrielle. Her. David. Laura. Arthur. His dog was running around, not following a particular path.
She looked behind.
Francine was just a dot on the horizon, no bigger than a bug.
Cursing under her breath, she slowed down and turned around to meet Francine. Arthur glanced at her, acknowledging what she was doing.
When Francine spotted her, she once again waved her off. "Oh, hun… no. I'm fine. Go… ahead." Her face was scrunched up and flushed from the exertion, and large circles of sweat wetted her uniform around her chest and under her armpits. Strands of grey hair stuck to her sweaty forehead.
"Can't get rid of me that easily, Francine." She smiled, jogging in place for a few seconds to wait for her.
She's not my friend. I'm just helping her get through her training.
"These… boots… are not the best… to run with," Francine panted, looking down at her black laced boots.
"I agree."
They ran in silence for a few minutes, all the way through the sprint. When it was back to walking, Francine started coughing.
"Hermione, dear, I—" She paused to cough, her breath still coming in short gasps. "To be… honest with you, I'm not sure… I will survive this… lifestyle very long."
Hermione pushed down the feelings this statement was giving her. She tried to smile sympathetically to Francine. "Come on, don't say that. You'll only get better."
Francine grabbed her arms suddenly to stop her. They both halted, boots in the grass, their running band getting smaller and smaller ahead.
"Hermione." She locked eyes with her. Her wrinkled cheeks were sagging around her mouth, covered with a sheen of sweat. "I am not… stupid. This clearly… won't work for me. I know it. You know it."
"Francine—"
"Just… don't be surprised… when it happens." She smiled fondly, and Hermione felt a cold spread through her chest. Her smile reminded her of her grandma. "Okay?"
"Okay."
They resumed walking. In the front, Ashley's back was getting bigger. Her pace was slowing down. Her sneezes were more frequent, and loud.
"Poor thing," Francine muttered. "Allergies."
She said nothing, glancing at Ashley. The dog was still running freely on the grounds. Sometimes, she wandered in the bushes and clusters of trees and came circling back. She always ran back to Malfoy.
They did the next intervals. Jogging. Sprinting.
They were just arriving on the other side of the castle when Hermione heard the shouts.
"Leave! Me! Alone!" Ashley was screaming and sniffling, throwing rocks at the dog. Her face was red, and her eyes were watery.
The rest of the band was further ahead.
The dog had stopped running, standing a few metres from Ashley. On her guard. Fur spiked with anger, growling and baring her fangs.
"Oh no," Francine murmured.
They hurried to the scene, but they were much farther away.
Ashley sneezed loudly, a single exhausted sob escaping from her throat. She threw another rock at the animal.
"Get back!" she yelled, wiping her face with her sleeve.
"Ashley!" someone else called, running toward her.
Some players of the band were coming back. A feeling of cold washed over Hermione. She had to stop her before Malfoy came back.
"Ashley, stop!" she exclaimed.
But the girl didn't stop. She kept throwing rocks she found on the ground. The dog dodged each one and barked even louder. From afar, the animal looked ready to pounce on a human prey.
Hermione started to run.
She knew Malfoy, somewhere, was doing the same.
She just had to beat him to Ashley.
"Stop!" she screamed again. "Ashley!"
"Get! The fuck! Away!" Ashley was relentless. Her throws were sharp and quick.
Then, one of the rocks hit the dog in the hip. She yelped in pain and retreated, whining loudly. Hermione's heart tightened, and she ran faster, completely forgetting Francine.
But Malfoy got there first.
When she finally arrived at Ashley's level, he was already there. His cheeks were slightly red, and she had never seen his eyes burn like that. His dog had cowered behind his legs, seeking his reassurance. He looked at her first, saw the way she licked her hip and flinched away from Ashley.
White heat covered his eyes, and his face changed entirely.
He strided toward Ashley like he was ready to smash through a door, and grabbed her jaw with one hand.
"What the fuck is your problem?" he snarled with venom. His large hand tightening his grip on Ashley's flushed face.
He brought his face an inch from hers, fingers digging into her skin. "You threw a rock at my dog?" His tone was low, like a menacing storm brewing.
She whimpered, trying to claw at his hand.
"Did you?" he hissed.
Ashley tried to speak, but her deformed mouth couldn't shape any words. "M' 'lergic," she squeezed out.
"I don't fucking care!"
He pushed her back with incredible force, releasing her jaw. She fell on her arse, his fingers imprinted on her cheeks.
He stabbed an accusing finger toward her. "Next time you touch her, I'll bash your fucking skull with a rock!"
Ashley cried silently, rubbing at her painful jaw. Malfoy looked at her for a few other seconds, breathing fire, before turning back and starting to run again.
Nobody moved.
"Today!" he urged, anger shaping his tone.
They all started running again, and Ashley sneezed.
That same afternoon, Hermione's back was flattened against a mattress on the floor, hands crossed behind her head. Her legs were bent at 90 degrees, and she bent one knee at a time towards the opposite elbow alternately.
She knew this exercise as 'The Bicycle'. Malfoy called it The Running Man—Merlin knew why.
The room smelled of sweat and effort. The dog wasn't with them. Malfoy was at the front of the room, demonstrating what they had to do so they could do it at the same time. He was sometimes stopping himself so he could get up and supervise their moves. Making sure they did it right.
"Doing it wrong is what gets you injured," he had said darkly.
The collective grunts, huffs and groans of the players filled the silence. The most vocal of them were Ashley and Oliver. Ashley was still sniffling a little, and the marks of Malfoy's fingers were still visible on her cheeks.
Hermione was struggling with the exercises too, but she wasn't grunting like everyone else.
It was when Malfoy got down on all fours, lowering his forearms on the ground and straightening his spine, standing on his toes, that she got to examine his arms. The veins snaking on his arms, up to his elbows—he had rolled up his sleeves. The Dark Mark, stark and sinister, was inked on his left arm, precisely outlined against the paleness of his skin. His hands were large and long, his fingers slender, and it occurred to her that in another life, he would probably be a talented pianist. Or an artist of some kind.
He was demonstrating the exercise he called 'The Board'—the goal was to hold this position for as long as possible. His hair fell in front of his forehead, damp with sweat. His posture was unbending, muscles locked in place.
She snapped back to reality when he jumped to his feet. "Get down," he told the band. "We're going for one minute first."
A few of them grunted. She got into position, slamming her forearms on the mat, waiting to raise herself on tiptoes.
"Now," he called.
Her spine straightened and she sustained the position. It got challenging quickly. Soon enough, her entire abdomen was burning with effort, and her arms were shaking. She had to clamp her eyes shut with focus, breathing through her teeth with a hissing sound.
"Lower your arses!" he barked, walking between their bodies. "I want to see straight spines!"
She shot a glance sideways through her hair. Malfoy was putting his boot on Oliver's back to lower his arse. "Straight spine!" he repeated. Oliver groaned.
Everyone was puffing, groaning, moaning. David was at the point of grumbling cries of exertion. Francine was quiet, and Hermione couldn't see if she could sustain the exercises.
When he reached her level, the first thing she noticed was his scent, before she saw his shadow on the floor. The next second, he was crouching down, propped up on his heels.
His hand went to her lower back, splaying his fingers there, and pushed gently down. "Lower," he muttered. She shifted her stance.
A strange prickling woke up under her skin, directly under his palm. But before she could tell him to leave, his hand had left her, leaving a cold imprint on her uniform. He had moved on to the next person.
So Oliver had the boot, and she had the hand.
Was he softer with the girls?
His hand on Ashley's jaw told her otherwise.
"And… stop," Malfoy said.
A collective sigh of relief rippled through the room as all the spines lowered back down. She dropped onto her stomach, exhausted, forehead against the mattress. Her entire core was burning.
Yesterday, they did squats and balance exercises. Today they were working on the core—the abs and the legs, mostly.
She drank a few gulps of her water, looking at her bottle as she sloshed the liquid around in her mouth. She loved watching the magic work on her bottle as the water magically refilled to its maximum level.
She missed magic.
"Player 42?" Malfoy's voice rose in the room.
She raised her head quickly, even though it wasn't her number. It was Francine's.
"Forty-Two, you can get up."
A foreboding feeling came over her, and she slowly rose to her feet. Francine's mattress was closest to the wall, parallel to the others. Laura was right next to it.
Francine was lying on her stomach, as if she'd just collapsed from exhaustion after the exercise, but she wasn't moving. Her hands were motionless, framing her face as if someone had pushed her to the floor and she'd remained there.
"Francine?" Laura asked, touching her shoulder. She shook her gently.
Nothing.
Hermione's blood left her face in an instant, leaving her with a chilling sensation that ran down her shoulders to the small of her back.
No—
She walked over to Francine.
Not this soon—
"Forty-Two?" Malfoy repeated.
She knelt down in front of Francine, pushed her grey locks back from her face and examined her. Her eyes were closed, her open mouth pressed limply against the mat. All around her, the other players were silent.
She placed her fingers in front of the old woman's mouth and nose.
Instant relief washed over her at the feel of a weak, warm breath. "She's alive!" she gasped.
"Number 41, step back," Malfoy ordered, taking control of the situation.
"But—"
"Step. Back."
She backed away, looking at him—silently begging him to do something. He copied her, kneeling beside Francine. Touching her neck to feel a pulse. Then her wrist. His fingers were gentle on her body, and she was relieved to see this flimsy sign of humanity in him.
He drew his wand from his tight sheath and hovered it above her body, slowly, from neck to ankle. Getting a more precise reading.
At the sight of the wand, Ashley, Luke and Reine looked intently, wide-eyed, like they couldn't comprehend what was before them.
After a minute, Malfoy rose somberly to his feet. He didn't look at any of them. "Nobody moves. I'll be back shortly." He left without saying another word.
Once the door had closed behind him, no one spoke for several seconds. The atmosphere had cooled.
When he returned about five minutes later, he was accompanied by a witch wearing the green robes of a Healer. Without a glance at the other players, she raised her wand to Francine's body and lifted it. Using a levitation spell, she steered her towards the door.
"What are you doing with her?" Hermione shot in the room, looking at the Healer.
The Healer didn't even glance at her and disappeared behind the door with the old woman. The door closed shut.
"She'll be placed with the others," Malfoy replied, schooling his features back to stone.
"What others?" David asked.
"Other injured players."
"Where?" she demanded, voice bouncing off the walls. Her breath was ragged.
He didn't look her in the eye when he said: "The Hospital Wing."
"Can we visit?"
"Let's resume our training." He walked back to his spot at the front.
"Didn't you hear me?" Her voice was shrill.
His eyes narrowed on her. "Enoughwith the fucking questions, Forty-One," he shot back, lips curled in a snarl.
She gulped down her anger and confusion. The sting of defeat was burning a hole right through her—it wasn't a competition, it wasn't a match. But he had the last word, because if she did, she would pay for it. So she bitterly and graciously swallowed her pride.
She didn't know what had happened to Francine. Was it a heart attack? Perhaps too much physical exertion? What would happen to her if she couldn't get back on her feet, literally?
She continued training in silence, her muscles burning and shaking with effort. When the session finished, she wiped the sweat off her forehead and untangled her braid to tie them into a ponytail instead. Without a glance for the trainer, she walked towards the door behind the others.
Malfoy grabbed her arm from behind to hold her back. "Not so fast."
She yanked her arm out of his grip and glared at him.
"You can't act like that with me in front of them," he warned. His tone was low, but not spiteful.
"I'm not a hypocrite, Malfoy," she retorted. "I won't play this game of pretend with all of you."
"If anyone else notices, it won't be pretty for you, Granger, and probably not for me."
"You may be important here," she airquoted the words with her fingers, "wearing an important uniform, walking alongside important people with important masks, but you're just a boy following orders."
Anger flared in his voice. "You don't fucking kn—"
"Play pretend with everyone else, play pretend with me if that's what you want. But I'm not playing pretend withyou. I'll do the trainings. I'll run. But you can't ask me to treat you like a superior."
"You can't—"
"Oh, and please, stop grabbing me. Just ask."
They stared at each other for several timeless moments, the seconds floating in the air like fireflies. Malfoy was a good head above her, and she hated that he had to look down at her while she had to look up.
He made her insides simmer, but she didn't know if the anger was misplaced. Francine's situation had made her upset. The rock that hit the dog made her ache somewhere deep. She was taking it out on him. Malfoy had been right—she couldn't get attached. Francine had almost died.
He closed his eyes to regain his composure. He took a deep breath and slowly opened them. The anger was gone, and his features had fallen slightly.
"The next band will be here soon," he said, his voice textureless. "We should go."
"Fine." She turned her back to him and walked away without another glance at him.
Three days went by, bleeding into each other. The day after Francine's collapse, the band ran around the castle in the morning as usual. However, it rained. Malfoy didn't care.
As a result, half of them got sick in the next few days—running nose, sniffling, complaining about headaches—because the collective immune system had crumbled at the same time as Voldemort's fog. Hermione didn't get the worst of it, but she tried to ignore the feeling of caring she felt for the rest of her band, except Arthur. She still chatted with Gabrielle and Oliver from time to time, but she tried not to deepen their relationship.
It would hurt too much if they…
Malfoy had been right—she couldn't care for them.
She hated that he had been right. And she couldn't even muster the will to speak to him. She averted his eyes, doing every training right to make sure he didn't have to address her directly. Nobody had given her news about Francine's condition.
He had told them that the goal of training them was not to wear them out with physical exertion and exhaustion, but to improve their fitness. Their bodies would have a complete rest every Thursday and Sunday. Two days off.
On Saturday, after dinner, as she made her way up to her room in the hope of catching up on some sleep, she came across David, Luke and Reine at the entrance to the corridor, just past the stairs of the fifth floor. They were talking in hushed tones, the sound dying down as soon as they spotted her.
She halted, her gaze darting between the three of them.
Something icky settled in her stomach. Were they about to jump her?
Why? She wasn't even a threat.
"What's going on?"
"We're in the middle of something," David said, rigid.
Reine leaned in to whisper something to him, and Luke nodded.
"This one seems to think you could be of help." David pointed to Reine. Hermione stepped towards them, but kept her distance.
She crossed her arms. "What is it?"
Luke looked behind her shoulder towards the staircase. "Is the trainer still downstairs?" His voice was low.
She frowned. "Yes, he's finishing eating." A pause. "Why?" She watched them one by one.
"We think we can take him," David said.
Her brows twitched in confusion. "Take who?"
"The trainer." Reine's voice was firm, echoing in the hallway.
She fell silent. A fleeting pause before she laughed.
David's gaze darkened on her. "What's so funny?"
"You can'ttake him," she scoffed, disbelieving.He's Draco Fucking Malfoy, she wanted to add.
"We can rush him," Luke specified. "In training. There are nine of us and one of him."
Her laugh died in her throat when she realised they were serious. She quickly opened the door to her room, which was the first in the hall, and hurried them inside. Four people in this room was a crowd, but she couldn't care less, even if an awkward blanket of proximity fell upon them.
She closed the door swiftly and swivelled towards them. "Rushhim?"
David repeated Luke's words, thunder in his tone. "There arenineof us, and one of—"
"I heard you the first time. I just didn't think you were bloody serious. And if you haven't noticed, he got his dog. That'stwoof him."
Reine crossed her arms. Hermione had had the chance to observe her during their training sessions. Reine was strong, but agile. Fast but quiet. Her stare was calculating and cutting.
"You do not think we can take him?" Reine asked, her lips barely moving.
She didn't know what to say, how to explain it to them, how to make them understand. She couldn't fathom the idea that nine people could trap Malfoy, overthrow him, defeat him… and for what purpose? What about his dog?
"Did you think this through?" she asked instead.
"Our plan was to take him during training," Luke explained. "He's not inside with the dog in the afternoons. While he's demonstrating the move, one of us will fake-sneeze and that will be the signal for rushing him."
"Forget the dog," she continued. "I'm going to assume you've already considered the fact that he has a wand at the ready and has quicker reflexes than anyone. What do you do next? Escape?"
David and Luke looked at each other, but she kept talking, fire on her tongue. "Didn't you think about the dozens of other people that are training at the same time as we are? In the rooms next to ours? The Gamemasters? Everyone will be on top of us inseconds. And even if we overlook that fact, have you thought about this?" She raised her inked wrist to their eyes. "We die if we break the rules."
The room fell silent.
"Can we make him cancel the tattoos?" Luke suggested, frowning. "I don't know how it works, but he could do it. Right?"
"You can'tmakehim do anything," she fired back. Now was not the time to explain howImperoworked.
Appalled by their lack of strategy, she tried to imagine the scenario. Their whole band rushing Malfoy. She felt… unease at the thought of them hurting him, or worse, killing him.
"Just don't—" she said quietly, sighing. "Don't do it. You're gonna get yourselves killed and I'm not going down with you."
David scoffed audibly. "Every man for himself, right?"
She didn't like the way he looked at her. "Isn't that the whole point of the games?" she replied in a clipped tone. She returned her attention to the others. "Why did you think I could help?"
Reine's brow furrowed slightly, and she uncrossed her arms. "The way you two interact. It makes me believe that you know each other."
She swallowed her stress. She had to expect it sooner or later. Malfoy and her obviously acted like they knew each other, and other people weren't blind or stupid. But what does the others in her band knowing this fact meant forher? Was she safe?
"We did know each other," she confirmed. "Back in Hogwarts—magic school," she added to Luke and Reine at the sight of their confused expression. "Thisschool, the one we're training in. We were… rivals. He hates me."
David scoffed again and he stepped back, his heel knocking against the bed's feet. He looked amused, and she felt a surge of dislike for him.
"Thatman doesn't hate you, Forty-One," he quipped, a glint in his eyes.
"What are you talking about?" Her voice was devoid of weight. The sharp and strange edge of disappointment stung her as she realised that they probably hadn't memorised her name like she had theirs.
"I'm a man too. I just know."
She rolled her eyes. This was the most meaningless and useless answer ever. "Get out of my room," she told them, irritated. But for good measure, she added, "please."
They left her room without saying another word. She didn't know if they were going to execute their plan without her. Part of her anticipated what might happen if the plan worked. Perhaps all together, with the element of surprise, they would have enough time to escape. At least to get out of the castle. All they had to do was cross the grounds and they'd be able to disapparate and escape for good. At least the Wizards and Witches among them could…
She could find Neville and Ginny again—
But her parents.
She had to stay for her parents.
And the tattoo. If being late could make it burn on their skin, sheknewthat escaping would trigger its release and kill them.
She fell on top of her bed, hair still braided and boots still tied. She stared at the ceiling.
Three people of her band were plotting to take down their trainer.
If their plan was half successful, Malfoy might be restrained for a short while, but they were never going to defeat the other Gamemasters. The Death Eaters who ran the Empire. Even Voldemort was probably on the premises somewhere. And even if the first part of the plan was a success, the second was bound to be a failure.
Her band—including her—would be killed instantly.
Her parents would be killed.
So whenever they wanted to harm Malfoy or try to escape, she would have to stop them.