Training Begins

Draco spent the rest of the week fasting and meditating. He was sleeping in a room with seven children, who were all doing the same practice he was. Moreover, they seemed to be better at it than he was. Draco had no idea that giving up his pride would be so much more difficult than giving up his wand.

He began hallucinating on the third day. The weather was hot, and a diet of juices made from local plants was not enough for his body, which was used to large meals in the British tradition...meat and potatoes with the occasional veg. Draco's visions brought him back to Hogwarts, with Severus and Potter, and they were some sort of trinity.

They were looking for Hermione, who had become a witch of Goddess proportions. She was giggling and running up and down a labyrinth of stairs that moved. Some were upside down, and some were horizontal; all the while she was trotting about in flowing robes of Gryffindor red and lilac like her mage's robes. Her hair was woven with wildflowers, and each time Hermione would meet Draco's gaze, he would turn to stone. Once she was out of his line of sight, he'd return to the flesh and begin the chase again.

To Draco, this pattern seemed to last all day and all night, so he was very surprised when he was woken up by one of the little girl initiates just before supper on that same third day. Draco looked at her dazedly, totally out of his element. The girl, whose name Draco couldn't place at all, just bowed to him, and he returned the bow, standing up and moving to a table where they had hot broth for supper.

After one week of meditation and cleansing fast, Draco got his first real breakfast. He was sitting at a small round table with all of the children from his cottage. They had already started this routine, so Draco was the only one surprised to see Hermione at the table. He looked at her for a long moment before remembering that he had to bow to her. Draco flinched internally and dropped his head. Maybe it hadn't been the brightest idea to have Hermione supervising his training.

Gods, she was beautiful. The last thing Draco wanted was to bow to her. How many times at school had she mouthed back at him to the point that he had wanted to push her against a wall and fuck her until she admitted that he was the best? How many times had he wanked while thinking about her on her knees, begging for him? Draco wanted to tie her to his bed and tease her to the point of blind desire for him and him alone; instead, he had to keep his head bowed while she supervised his breakfast, as if he were a child. He was so caught up in his thoughts and his delicious meat and flatbread breakfast that he almost missed when she spoke to him.

"We all bow to the power of the elements, so that we might be blessed by those same elements." Hermione click-called Acara to her, and the cat came and rested her head on Hermione's lap. "Today, you will harvest the fronds from the fields north of the village, without magic. Your sweat will bless the land, as the land will bless you by making you strong."

After a few minutes, they left the table, each initiate carrying a scythe scaled to their proportion and skill level. They followed Hermione single file into the field. Draco was surprised to see that his scythe was actually shorter than Hermione's; he would have asked her about it, but he knew he wasn't allowed to speak unless spoken to. The Dark Lord had had this rule as well, so it wasn't unfamiliar. Of course, he rather preferred a mountain in Peru where he could gaze at Hermione's rump on the sly to the Manor's dungeon with the most evil wizard that there had ever been.

Once they were in the field, Hermione called them into a half circle and stood so that she could see everyone before starting the morning's directions. "This field will be cleared by the end of the day. It is important to begin slowly, for you will surely tire more quickly than you imagine. When you tire, you are to sit and meditate for thirty minutes; Acara will make you aware of when your rest is finished, and you will begin reaping again."

Hermione looked at the eight in front of her, measuring them up. She had some dried fruit and meat in her satchel for lunch and figured that each would need a rest after, to recoup. Looking at Draco, she felt a little pity for him: he stood out like a dove in a line of ducklings. "How do you usually protect yourself from the sun, Draco?"

Draco looked up suddenly, startled and frankly surprised at being addressed. "A potion, Lady." He had to fight the smirk off his face as he said the last word. As his wife she would be Lady Malfoy, but this was not like that. It was the closest translation for what the others were calling her. There wasn't a word he knew that meant master, professor, and elder all in one. The contract had determined that he would call her 'Lady' until he became fluent in the language and could work the declensions and conjugations appropriately. He had extra 'classes' after the evening meal, during which she would teach him the basic grammar and vocabulary. It was the only thing they'd do that would resemble his Hogwarts education at all.

"Come." Hermione motioned to a spot in front of her where Draco would kneel before her.

He swallowed thickly before making his move. Once he was kneeling, she put both her hands on his face and tilted it up to hers. Hermione's eyes turned to a pale brown; so much so that they were almost yellow. Then she began to chant, and Draco could feel a cool tingling sweep across his skin. When her hands fell away, her eyes were still dark yellow, like the sun on an overcast day.

"You should be protected, but we'll want to do that again after lunch. Everyone spread out!"

Draco watched as the children moved along the edge of the field, spacing themselves out. Hermione was walking with him toward the very edge.

"You will reap moving forward, then turn to the right, coming back, then turn left, and up again. Have you ever swung one of these before?"

"No, Lady." Draco looked out at the expanse that he was set to clear; it was only slightly larger than what the children were working on, and that was only because his section had a bit of curve on the furthest part.

"Fine. It is not unlike swinging a Beater's bat, although the length requires that you really use both arms in order to be efficient. Move back and watch."

Hermione moved forward a step and spit in her hands; Draco was slightly disgusted by the maneuver. However, he couldn't complain with the view...Hermione was wearing short pants that accentuated her legs and arse nicely and a shirt that covered her closely over her body. She stretched her back and rolled her neck a little. She was quite strong and limber, and Draco felt a sort of possessive pride.

Finally, Hermione took up the scythe and made a long swing from right to left across her body, the fronds in front of her falling with a soft thwap. Once the scythe was on the left side, she gave a quick twist of her wrists, and the blade of the scythe flew back the other way. Again, the fronds dropped in front of her, and she quickly fell into a march, sweeping the scythe and clearing the first twenty feet of his land. Hermione was graceful and efficient, and Draco was quick to marvel at his betrothed...certainly his mother wouldn't even know what a scythe was, let alone be able to swing one with such majesty.

Hermione stopped and turned to Draco. "All right, let's see you."

Draco nodded and moved over slightly so that he could begin where he was standing. He let the first swing go, moving from left to right. To his embarrassment, the cut was not nearly as close to the earth, nor as straight as Hermione's. Draco spun the scythe and tried again, his right-handed stroke worse than the first. Draco scowled.

"No one does it right the first time, Draco! Hurry up!" Hermione called at him.

As much as he wanted to tell her where she could stick it, he bowed and worked toward her.

Hermione could see he was taking his frustration out on the poor earth, and she held back a low chuckle. When he finally reached her, he was sweaty and winded. She put a hand on his arm. "You'll tire out quickly like that." Then Hermione turned and gestured to the others, saying, "Slow and steady, Draco...think of it like meditation for your body. You aren't weak, just... unpractised."

Hermione had some bitterness about having to be encouraging toward Draco...if he failed, he wouldn't have the opportunity to marry her. Still, she couldn't just sabotage him. She reached up and squeezed his arm reassuringly before moving to the centre of the field so she could watch and summon fronds as they were cut down.

Draco watched her hand leave his arm with a mix of sullen resentment and sheer lust. She'd squeezed his arm and looked at him with kind eyes, and all he could think of was licking up her neck as he fucked her in this field of grass. He could practically hear her moaning as he set about his work, not stopping until he couldn't hold his arms up any more. Draco dropped his scythe and fell to his knees, sliding more quickly into a meditative place than he ever had before.

Draco was pulled out of his meditation by the unfriendly thwap of Acara's tail on his back. Where she would nuzzle the children gently, she put an opposite amount of force into Draco. Draco was stiff and thirstier than he had ever been before. It was bloody hot up here, and all of this work was really starting to get to him. He looked around at the others, all of whom were working tirelessly and without complaint. Comparatively, he was now behind each of those children.

He muttered to himself, "You are stronger than an eight year old, Malfoy." He stood up, turning to watch the cat bounce playfully through the high brush. Draco shook his head...he would not finish the day last. Draco reached for his scythe and got to work.

When Draco sat down across from Hermione for his first language lesson, he could barely move. Even his hands, which had swung and twisted the scythe all day, were sore. They curled like hooks because his muscles were so tight. Draco held them in his lap under the table so Hermione could not see; he was embarrassed by his weakness.

"Medallion off, Draco," Hermione said as she reached up to unclasp hers from behind her neck. Her fingers tickled the brand.

Draco shivered and groaned lowly, his gaze heating even though he could only stare at the table.

"I can't, Lady...my hands..." Draco held them out to her, looking up at her through his eyelashes. There were several blisters, and they were stuck in a loose circle. Standing, Hermione walked around the table and pushed his hair up to see the clasp. Draco shivered again at her touch and groaned softly in pain as his muscles protested.

"Sore?" Hermione chuckled and set his medallion on the table beside them. "Just give it two days; even breathing will hurt." She patted him on the back casually, smirking at his pain as she walked back to her side of the table.

Draco muttered, "Heartless wench," as he moved, flinching, to sit properly for studying, but Hermione chose to ignore this. She had picked out some children's books and brought a quill and paper to the table before Draco arrived. "You did well today, Draco. I can't imagine that you've done much manual labour, what with magic and house-elves at your disposal your whole life."

"Thank you, Lady." Draco felt as though she couldn't be serious, but her voice was sincere. He wanted to look at her face to see what was happening with her beautiful, expressive eyes, but he was not allowed to look at her unless she invited him to do so. Intellectually, Draco was trying his hardest to be submissive; he knew that the more submissive he was, the faster this would all go. However, Malfoys don't submit, and his instinct as a Malfoy made him want to push her down on the table and mount her. The very notion made his body ache, though. Draco shook his head softly and reached for a quill.

Hermione looked at him thoughtfully and sighed deeply. The world was tipped on its end for sure if this truly was Draco Malfoy in front of her. "Let's get to work, Draco."