She whipped the silver knife from her pocket and began slicing sections of fluxweed as fast as she could without affecting the potency. There wasn't enough.
She recast the locator spell and ran in the direction her wand sent her. As she did so, she looked up to see the sharp elongated shadow of a werewolf sauntering down the slope towards her.
She skidded and nearly fell as she reached a spot with several fluxweed and cut them down in seconds.
The werewolf was less than twelve feet away and crouching into a lunge when she finally spun on her heel and apparated to the closest place she could think off.
Hermione reappeared on the steps of Malfoy's unplottable shack. Gasping for air, she dropped down onto the top step and sat panting as she tried to recover her breath.
She leaned against the door and closed her eyes as her heart continued pounding violently.
She was terribly out of shape. She couldn't believe how quickly she'd tired out from running. Her oesophagus burned, and there was a sharp, stabbing pain through her lungs every time she breathed in.
Aside from tromping through the countryside in search of potion ingredients, Hermione didn't engage in any physically strenuous activities. After she'd been pulled from fighting, she hadn't had time to drill or practice or even worry about her physical endurance.
Merlin, she was useless. If she ever found herself on a battlefield again, she'd probably be cut down in seconds.
Her breathing had evened, but she remained in place for another minute as she tried to will her heartbeat into slowing.
The door behind her abruptly wrenched open, and she toppled backwards into the shack.
Her head banged into the wood and stars flashed before her eyes as she discovered Malfoy staring down at her, enraged.
“The fuck, Granger, what are you doing?”
“Malfoy?” she said, staring up at him in confusion. “What are you doing here?”
“What am I doing here?” He snarled. “You activated the wards. I assumed you needed me for something.”
“Oh,” Hermione said, heat staining her cheeks. “I didn't realize the monitor ward extended beyond the room. I didn't mean to bother you.”
She rolled over and stood up.
Malfoy looked her up and down.
“What were you doing?”
“I needed fluxweed harvested under a full moon,” she said, finding that she was still panting slightly. “And there were werewolves. I couldn't wait until next month. So I had to run away and try gathering as I went. But I'm not very fit anymore. It winded me. This was the closest place to apparate to. So I was trying to get my breath back.”
“Where were you getting fluxweed?” His tone had an edge to it.
She gestured over here shoulder. “There's a field near here, in the Forest of Dean. It's one of the places I usually go to find potion ingredients.”
“Usually—”
There was a pause.
“You wander the countryside at night. Foraging?” His expression had become frozen.
“Yes.” Hermione nodded, eying him. “I mentioned this.”
“No... You said you were getting potion ingredients. I assumed that meant you had a supplier.” His expression was growing hard and his eyes were accusing as though she'd lied to him.
Hermione stared at him with disbelief. “I'm a terrorist. It costs a small fortune to buy potion ingredients off the black market. I'm not going to waste my budget when I can get it for free and at better quality by doing the work myself.”
“So you're traipsing about the countryside of magical Britain, at night, to gather potion ingredients? Alone?”
“Obviously,” Hermione said, sniffing. “That's why we meet on Tuesday mornings after I finish.”
There was a long silence.
“You cannot.” He announced it in a tone of finality. “You will stop. You will stay inside whatever sad little safehouse they keep you healing in, and you will not go foraging again.”
Hermione stared at him indignantly for several astonished seconds. “I will most certainly not! You don't control what I do.”
His expression hardened, a predatory glint appearing in his eyes. “I do, actually. Have you forgotten? I own you. If I tell you to sit in this room and stare at the wall until next week, you gave your word that you'd do it.”
Hermione felt rage bloom through her. “No, I wouldn't. Because you gave your word not to interfere with my work in the Order. Foraging is part of my work. It's non-negotiable. If you want to control everything I do, you'll have to wait until we win. You gave your word too.”
Malfoy stood glaring at her, his eyes calculating. Then he abruptly changed the subject. “So, you outran werewolves?”
She flushed.
“No. I mean — they weren't very close until the end. I only ran maybe a hundred yards at most.”
“And you're still panting from that?” he said sceptically.
“I–I don't really do any fieldwork aside from foraging. There's not much of a need to work on my stamina,” she said, drawing herself up defensively.
Malfoy's mouth suddenly dropped open; he snapped it shut and dropped a hand over his eyes for several seconds as though trying to compose himself. Then he dragged his hand away and stared at her.
“When exactly was the last time anyone drilled you? I assume you practise basic duelling, given you're so important they won't let you fight anymore. Surely, since they let you go out, alone, in the middle of the night; your defence must be second to none.”
Hermione dropped her eyes and fidgeted with the strap of her satchel. “I'm very busy. Part of the reason they pulled me from combat is because there are a lot of other things I'm needed for.”
“How long has it been, Granger?” His voice was hard.
She glanced around the room. The stupid place didn't even have anything she could pretend to be looking at. She focused on a knot in the floorboards.
“It's — probably been about two and a half years,” she said quietly.
He dropped his face into his hand and was silent, as though he couldn't even bear to look at her.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Well, I'll be going then,” she said at length in a crisp voice. “Sorry I bothered you. It won't happen again.”
“I'm training you,” Malfoy said abruptly, straightening and glaring down at her.
“What?” She stared at him in confusion.
“I'm going to train you,” he said slowly. “Since getting you to stop is apparently not an option. I won't waste my time dealing with a new contact in the Order because you aren't smart enough to stay in fighting condition. Given the way they all fight, I'm sure anyone else I got would be shite at occlumency and likely to eventually be picked up in a skirmish.”
Well, Malfoy's Slytherin self-preservation instinct was certainly still strong. Hermione sighed with irritation.
“It's really not necessary. I don't fight. There are rarely any issues when I'm foraging. You needn't worry that you'll be inconvenienced by losing your precious war prize.”
“Really?” he said, his voice airy as he stepped toward her. “You don't want to? Because you'll be done learning occlumency shortly. I would think you'd prefer to fill your time with duelling practice rather than some of the other activities I could demand you participate in.”
Hermione glared at him.
She doubted he had any intention of following through with his thinly veiled threat given that he'd shown no particular inclination. If he wanted to teach her duelling, there was no harm in it. She certainly would prefer it. She needed to keep spending time with him. She wouldn't be able to succeed in her mission if they weren't spending time with each other.
“Fine,” she snapped, her expression twisting in faint derision.
“You look so bitter,” his expression was vicious with mockery. “You'd think I just demanded you fuck me rather than not. Disappointed?”