“Down, then jab – yes like that. Use your magic, where is the next blow coming from? Dodge, down, jab – exactly.”

Lucius and Hermione had been working for almost an hour on her skills with the blade the Dark Lord gave her. Her body was sticky with sweat as she moved around him, trying to anticipate where his hands would move next. Though Lucius never hurt her – he had charmed their weapons to be unable to do so – it was still frustrating every time he caught her, but exhilarating in the moments where she got him .

She twisted, ducking under his arm to come up behind him and pressed the tip of her blade to the center of his spine.

“Very good,” Lucius praised and she smiled at the bright feeling that swirled through her chest that always came with his compliments.

They stepped away from each other, Lucius conjuring two glasses and filling them with water from his wand before handing one to her, as she placed her dagger down on the small side table.

“You’re getting better at this,” he said, then handing her a small towel. “Though I am unsurprised. I assume you’ve read all about proper fighting technique since the summer?

She drank the cool water quickly, relishing the small drops that slid down her chin and onto her throat.

“Of course I have,” she said with a smile, taking another large drink.

They were in the ballroom-turned-training room of the manor, snowflakes swirling against the large curved windows and creating a soft light in the golden room. Whenever they trained in here Hermione always wondered what the room would look like used for its actual purpose, decked out in gorgeous decorations, filled with bustling soft silks and organza robes.

“How was the end of term?” Lucius said in a would-be casual way.

Her stomach dropped and to avoid his gaze she fixed hers on the falling snow out the window.

“It was fine,” she said quietly, her hand shaking as she placed the glass down on the small table beside her.

She didn’t need to see it to know that Lucius’ eyes flashed the same way Draco’s did when he knew she was lying. Knew that he more than likely already had known what had happened to her and knew that this was his way of allowing her space to discuss it, if needed.

After Draco had lifted her into his arms that night, he’d taken her to the room of requirement. Instead of the romantic evening they’d been planning for, he’d asked the room to conjure the equivalent of her bedchamber at the manor and tucked her into the soft bed. He’d been so careful with her, so gentle. Announcing every touch, every movement before it happened.

Part of her wanted to never be touched again and the other wanted Draco to erase the memory of Ron’s hands on hers with his own.

Ron, she had found out the next day, had re-entered the party in the common room without anyone noticing he’d been gone and had promptly snogged Lavender Brown in front of the entire house.

It had been difficult to find a book large enough within her mental library to place the memory inside. Difficult to shut the book and find a place for it. Every time she thought she had, after a few hours the book would fall to the floor, pages opened and she would just… stop. Images of that night flashing in front of her.

The following night, the Dark Lord had noticed when he’d summoned them to celebrate their success with Karkaroff. It had been a test for her, it seemed. A test to see how far she was willing to go to serve him.

She had passed.

But when he’d praised her, she had barely managed a smile. When he’d leaned forward to touch her cheek, she had automatically shrank back. Then, he’d asked her to enter his mind.

There, in the obsidian chamber, had been the handsome Tom Riddle. His eyes alight with rage so similar to Draco’s she had wondered at the emotion. Rage, it seemed, was a familiar companion for the Dark Lord.

“What has happened?” Tom Riddle had asked, reaching to touch her face.

Even her mental form shrank away from the touch but, unlike Draco, Tom did not seem to acknowledge it. Instead, he cupped her chin and turned her towards him.

“Who did this to you?” his melodic voice had dropped to a low growl. “Who has touched what is not theirs?”

“It has been handled, my lord,” she had answered in a cracked whisper. “He has been punished.”

He’d raised an eyebrow at that, his dark eyes flicking over her face.

“The situation may have been handled, pet, but you have not been,” he said in a slow, smooth voice.

His hand dropped from her face. She stared at him for a long moment, wondering what he could mean. Theo had healed her, Draco had comforted her, and she was trying to put away the memory.

“I will do better, my lord,” she’d replied with a dip of her head.

Tom appeared to contemplate her, his face a smooth mask against the bluish light of the room. There was no fire, no chairs as there had been the last time she’d been here. Only the black chamber and the ominous blue orb above them.

“To be powerful – truly powerful – you must learn that it is not a matter of strength or magic. It is a matter of will and control . You must learn to control your emotions. Emotions are fleeing and nonessential – your will is not. Once you exercise your dominion over your emotions, exercising your control over others is just as simple.”

Tom brushed a curl from her face, a small smile pulling up the corner of his mouth.

“You are more than a frightened girl, more than this . But you must believe it. Squash these notions of weakness and pain – pain is in your mind. Power is at your fingertips.”

But as much as she wanted to follow the Dark Lord’s orders, she couldn’t find a way to do so. Couldn’t find the method of pushing the emotion down inside of her. It was always there when she closed her eyes, the feeling of hot breath on her skin, her hands empty, powerless.

“Hermione…” Lucius said, bringing her back to the present.

“Will you…” She swallowed. The feeling of being so vulnerable without her wand ghosting over her skin. “Will you teach me wandless casting?” she asked suddenly, cutting across whatever he was about to say.

Lucius stared at her, his grey eyes kind. She could see concern curling around the corners of his eyes, the set of his mouth, before it turned into a sort of pride. He stepped closer to her, showing her his hand before he placed it on her shoulder.

Yes, Lucius definitely knew what happened.

“Of course I will. When would you like to start?”

She took a deep breath.

“Now,” she answered in a strong voice.

Lucius smiled one of those rare, beautiful smiles that spoke of pride and love.

“Then let’s begin.”