Hello! I hope everyone is having a relaxing weekend! With this chapter there will be more humor injected into this story and, honestly, that's really about 86% of what I write anyway. I hope this puts a smile on someone's face today :)

It was a sunny Saturday afternoon and several days since Hermione had spent her Wednesday evening researching with Malfoy. She was on her way to the library again. She had gone to the library every moment she could. Every day, she told herself she was getting closer, no matter how slow the process was, but every day her chest got tighter and her head a little fuzzier.

Today she was meeting with Ginny and she hoped she would find some renewed energy and focus. She had to if she wanted to get rid of this bloody scar.

She had just reached the library doors when Ginny intercepted her.

"Stop. We're not going in there," Ginny said.

"We're not going into the library?" Hermione asked slowly.

Ginny shook her head. "It's a beautiful day, possibly the last warm day until spring. We should be outside."

"Okay, I guess we can check out books and work outside."

"We're not working today."

Hermione gave Ginny a sympathetic look. "It's okay if you don't feel like being stuck inside but I'm going to pop in—"

"Look, I said I was going to help you, Hermione," Ginny said with an air of authority. "And that's what I'm going to do."

"I'm not sure..."

Ginny grabbed her hand and dragged her away. "Come on."

"Ginny..."

"You need a break," she said with a smile. "I promise it will help in the long run."

"But we need—" Hermione protests wilted under Ginny's fierce determination. "Fine, one hour."

Ginny snorted. "One hour is not enough."

"Okay, what are we going to do then?" she demanded.

"We..." Ginny said, smiling. "...are going to do go down to the quidditch pitch and do nothing."

"What?"

"Yes, Hermione Granger, we are going to sit in the sun and talk about nothing important!"

"What?"

Ginny laughed at the look of horror on Hermione's face. "We are going to talk about muggle fashion and lip gloss and music and our periods and whatever else we feel like talking about that isn't our problems."

Hermione groaned and let Ginny drag her outside. She blinked up at the bright sunlight, her eyes burning.

Ginny grinned. "What? Too much sun for you? You've been spending so much time inside, you're like a bloody vampire."

"I am not," Hermione muttered, but she had to admit, sunglasses would've been nice right at the moment.

Ginny practically pranced down to the quidditch pitch, still dragging Hermione by the hand who trudged reluctantly behind her. They ended up laying on their backs, the grass slightly damp against their clothes, staring up at the bright, blue sky. The sun was warm on her face, the breeze sweet and Hermione had to admit it felt really nice.

They actually did end up talking about nothing and Ginny made Hermione laugh so hard she almost peed her pants twice.

And it was in that moment that Hermione realized Ginny was right. She needed a break. A big one, where she didn't have to focus on her worries. But Hermione realized something else—maybe something even more important. As she stared up at the sky, counting passing airplanes with Ginny, she realized she didn't have two best friends anymore. She had three.

The next day, the weather shifted into a cold, wet drizzle which was just as well since Hermione was meeting Malfoy at the library after breakfast. She had such a lovely time with Ginny, she would've been tempted to spend the day outside again but reality had other ideas for her.

She had been working in the library for a half hour when Malfoy arrived. He was dressed less formally than usual, which wasn't saying much since he dressed like an uptight middle-aged rich man who liked black a lot. That morning he wore a dark, grey jumper with dark jeans and it...worked on him.

Hermione stared at the soft looking texture of his jumper. It looked cozy.

He waved a hand in front of her. "Hello."

"Oh, what?"

"You didn't hear a word I said, did you?" he said, an eyebrow raised.

"Sorry."

"I said my mother translated a few words but they have completely different meanings from the same ones we translated." Malfoy huffed a little and Hermione noticed the slight frown on his face.

"I thought this might happen," she sighed. "I think once we translate everything, the context will matter more and the correct wording will be obvious."

Malfoy nodded once and reached for a book in Hermione's pile. "You're probably right," he said quietly. He looked pensive.

She opened her mouth to say—oh, who knows what she was going to say—maybe something encouraging when her scar tingled. She didn't even think, just reached across the table and clasped his hand. It was becoming second nature touching him, but her face still burned hot whenever she did.

They didn't say a word to each other when she slid her hand free—both just turned to their notes and books and began to work.

A few hours later, Malfoy had looked up from the book he been reading and glanced at his watch. "It's going to be lunch soon. Do you want to head out?"

Hermione peered up from her notes. "No, I had a big breakfast. You go ahead."

"You skipped lunch last weekend." He gave her a look. "I'm worried you'll waste away." He said it lightly, like he was joking, but there was something else in his expression Hermione couldn't read.

"I won't waste away," she said, smiling a little. "Trust me."

He looked doubtful.

She tossed her quill on the table and leaned back to look at him properly. "Last Sunday, after you left, I worked for a bit then went down to then kitchens. There, the elves were so excited to have a guest, they made me a six-course meal. Shall I list the dishes I ate?"

"No, that's quite alri—"

"First, was the appetizer—some kind of fancy cracker with these orange fish eggs on top. I'm not exactly sure what kind of fish and, honestly, I was a little unsure about them but I didn't want to offend the chef who was staring at me, unblinkingly I might add, so I ate it and it was delicious. I mean, the texture was surprising, kind of crunchy, which was unexpected but I liked it. Next was—"

"Right, I got it—"

"—a potato soup drizzled with truffle oil. I never had truffle oil before. It tasted like dirt but, like, delicious dirt and I was very impressed with all the flavors. The chef explained all the herbs and spices to me and I didn't know what any of that meant but it was still delicious. And then came the salad—"

"Okay, Granger, you made your point."

"So, you see, I will most certainly not waste away," she said serenely. What she didn't mention was just that morning she had to transfigure her jeans a little bigger around the waist and bum with all the extra calories she had been eating and her lack of anything resembling exercise.

He stared down at all their things scattered around the table. "Is it okay if I leave my stuff here?"

She stared up at him. "Oh, you're coming back?"

"Well, yeah. The weather is rubbish and I'm caught up on homework so..."

"Oh, sure."

"Great."

"Great."

Malfoy hesitated for moment. "Okay, bye."

"Bye."

She watched him leave, cringing at how awkward their goodbye was. Merlin, what was wrong with her? She chalked it up to the innate strangeness of having a working relationship with her childhood nemesis.

Before long, Malfoy had returned. He looked like he normally did, expressionless in his cozy grey jumper but he was carrying three little packages wrapped in napkins and there was a smug curve on his lips when he sat down. He placed the packages in front of her.

Hermione stared at them in surprise. "Malfoy, what..."

That smug look turned into a pleased smile as he peeled the napkin from each item. First, was a pretty, green apple. Next, was four slices of crusty bread slathered in butter. Last, was a row of thick, chocolate biscuits.

Unbidden, Hermione's mouth watered and she wasn't sure what to make of his gesture.

"That's very nice and all but food isn't allowed in the library," she said, much haughtier than she intended.

Malfoy snorted. "Granger, the librarian won't know. And who said this is all for you anyway. I just ate lunch and I'm getting hungry again."

"Yes, but you're a boy," she said. "You're supposed to be hungry all the time. And what if the librarian finds this and you get in trouble? Remember what you said: any little infraction could be disastrous for you."

He rolled his eyes. "Merlin, it's just food, Granger." Then he grinned. "Besides, I'll tell Madame Pince that it's yours and you'll get in trouble instead."

She opened her mouth to argue but just then her stomach decided to growl very loudly.

"I heard that." Malfoy grabbed a biscuit. "And you're welcome."

They worked until dinnertime. Ginny had come to collect Hermione and the stony looks Ginny had given Malfoy was enough to bring the temperature down several degrees. Malfoy seemed impervious to it though. He collected his things then left for the Great Hall first, bidding Hermione an almost warm farewell and ignoring Ginny altogether.

"Malfoy seems to be on his best behavior with you," Ginny said, as they wove through the main corridor.

"Yes, he's civil, sometimes friendly too," Hermione said.

Ginny's mouth tightened in disapproval. "He better be," she grumbled. Her expression turned troubled. "I don't know. I didn't like the way he said goodbye to you."

"What?" Hermione said, gobsmacked. "He was perfectly pleasant."

"Exactly! A little more than I'd like," Ginny said, scowling.

Hermione stared at her friend. "Seriously?"

"The way he looked at you..." Ginny shook her head. "Kind of lingered, I guess—I didn't like it." She glanced at Hermione apologetically. "I just don't trust him or his motives."

"Well, yeah," Hermione agreed. "He's Malfoy. I don't trust him either but he is helping me." She bumped her shoulder into Ginny's. "And that's all that matter, right?"

Ginny opened her mouth to say something and by the look on her face, it wasn't going to be flattering to Malfoy. Instead, she gave Hermione a small smile. "Right."

They entered the Great Hall and made their way to the Gryffindor table. Hermione didn't give much thought to what Ginny said. It wasn't until her belly was full and she was giggling at something scandalous a 7th year whispered across the table at her when Ginny's words began to take hold.

The way he lingered, she said.

Without thinking, she glanced over at the Slytherin table. At the same moment, Malfoy's eyes met hers. Her heart skipped and for some strange reason, she couldn't look away. He smiled at her then—a small, guarded one, but his pale eyes were warm. She smiled back—tremulous and shaky—then she tore her eyes away, her heart beating in her throat.

Hermione wasn't sure how it happened, but the next three evenings were spent in the library with Malfoy. It wasn't discussed or scheduled. She had been in the library after supper and he had simply joined her. It was just as well, they got more done working together anyway, often doing their homework together too.

It was...nice, if Hermione was being honest with herself.

But as each day passed, she began to notice how withdrawn and tired he looked, his complexion paler than usual. He was close to hitting a wall, she was sure of it, not unlike the one she had before Ginny decided to take matters in her own hands. He needed a break.

She sidled up to him when their Transfigurations class was let out the next day.

"We should take the evening off," she said next to him, struggling to keep up with his long strides.

He glanced down at her, looking surprised to see her by his side. He narrowed his eyes at her. "From researching?"

A few people around them were watching them curiously. She slowed down and gestured him to follow her into an empty corridor.

She turned to look at him. "Yes, from researching. We've been working hard with no breaks," she said. "And with all our schoolwork on top of that, I thought it might be a good idea for you to take the next few nights off. Maybe hang out with your friends."

His mouth tightened into a scowl. "I thought you wanted to get rid of that bloody scar."

She faltered at his harsh tone.

"I do. Of course, I do. I'm worried that—" She stopped for a moment, watching his face darken. She tried again. "I think taking a night off will give us fresh perspective. I did it myself over a week ago. It really did help."

"Can you cut the shite, Granger! When have you ever been burnt out on anything that requires studying?" He glared at her accusingly. "This is about me, isn't it? You don't think I have the work ethic to keep up with you. Is it because you've spent your entire school career dragging Weasley and Potter along through all their classes?"

Her mouth dropped open. "What—"

"Admit it," he said, getting in her face. "You still think I'm that spoiled little, rich boy, don't you? You think—"

"Let's get one thing straight, Malfoy," she snapped, her temper finally flaring to life. "I don't care one iota of what you think!"

Malfoy's expression turned sharp, his eyes blazing. He wanted a fight, she realized. Well, she was all too happy to oblige him if he was going to be a gigantic git about it!

"Well, what a coincidence, I don't care about what you think either," he sneered.

"What do you want from me, Malfoy? Congratulations? How wonderful we both don't give a—"

The pain shot through her before her next breath. She lurched backward, her arm on fire. Malfoy's face went from furious to stricken instantly. He stepped toward her.

"Don't you touch me!" she snarled.

He froze, throat bobbing.

Her scar burned so intensely it felt like it was detached from her body—a searing, heavy thing, almost icy in its heat. But she would be damned if she let Malfoy help her!

Trembling, she stood up as straight as she could, her eyes filling with tears, her teeth gritting against the pain. "I don't need your help, Malfoy. I don't need you at all."

She turned and left on shaky legs, her sheer stubbornness fueling her up a flight of stairs and into the nearest girls bathroom. There, she locked herself into a stall and let her tears fall. She told herself the tears were from the pain but she knew deep down it was something else.

The one small mercy: the murderous rage didn't rise up. She was at least grateful for that.

As soon as her day ended, Hermione went straight to bed—drawing the curtains of her four poster around her. She was glad she hadn't seen Malfoy after their fight. What had happened? What went wrong today? She had no idea. She knew she hadn't done anything to antagonize him and if she did, it certainly was his responsibility to tell her why and not pick a fight with her.

Sighing, she propped herself on her pillows and started her Transfiguration essay but her heart wasn't in it. The thought of translating the diary alone left her feeling queazy. She grabbed a book her mother had sent her from the nightstand. Two paragraphs in, she tossed it away.

Suddenly, the curtains of her four poster flew open and she just about jumped a foot.

Standing there was Ginny, her expression determined. "What happened?"

"Why do you think something happened?" Hermione's heart skipped. "Did someone say something to you?"

Ginny made a face. "No, but I know something is up when you end up here with your curtains drawn."

Hermione took a deep, resigned breath. "I got in fight with Malfoy."

Ginny's lip curled. "That git!" She opened the curtain wider. "Do you want me to hex him?"

"No."

"Humiliate him?"

"No."

"Poison him?"

"Ginny! No."

Ginny shrugged. "I wasn't talking about something fatal just something super painful."

Hermione cracked a smile. "Maybe."

Ginny grinned at that and plopped down next to her. "What were you guys fighting about?"

"I honestly don't know. We were fine then we..." She groaned in frustration. "...then we weren't."

"I know what happened," Ginny said, eyebrows raised. "He's an utter prat, that's what."

"That's...your explanation?"

"Yes. He's Draco Malfoy. That's all we need to know," Ginny said, lifting a shoulder.

"He's never been like that—I mean, at least not at the start of this year. He's been mostly civil and calm and then today it was like his old self came out." That's what disturbed Hermione the most, the old Malfoy came roaring back—surly, antagonistic. Cruel.

"Do you need me to explain that he's Draco Malfoy again?" Ginny said.

Hermione glanced down, picking at a lose thread on her comforter. "No."

Ginny grabbed her hand and gave her a quick squeeze. "I'm sorry that happened. We'll plot our revenge later. Do you feel like coming down for supper?"

The thought of seeing Malfoy killed what little appetite she had. "No, you go ahead."

Ginny gave her a gentle smile. "I'll bring up some food for you, okay."

Hermione smiled back. "Thanks, Ginny."

Hermione had ended up laying on her bed, face up, staring at the tented folds of her four poster. Her brain replayed the fight over and over again. She had grabbed her pillow and screamed into it a few times. It only made her throat sore. At least Gryffindor Tower was empty during supper. She hoped it stayed that way a little longer.

Suddenly, she heard a skittering sound. She sat up and peeked out of her bed curtains. Just outside her window was a familiar dark owl, clawing at the glass and glaring at her.

She jumped to her feet and opened the window. The owl clattered inside and stuck its leg out at her. Carefully, she untied the little envelope and before she could say thank you, the owl soared outside.

Hands shaking, she pulled out the note.

Can we talk?

North Tower at 7.

Please come.

-DM

She stared at the note for several seconds, her chest tight with anger. Then she crumpled it up and threw it in the trash. There was no way she was going to talk to him tonight. He could bugger off for all she cared!

A few minutes later she was pacing her room, staring at the clock on the wall. It was just past 6:30.

Nope! She wasn't going up there. Not a chance in hell!

She sat down on her bed, rifling through her notebook then throwing it aside. She stood up, then sat down again. Jiggling her knee, she glanced up at the clock: 6:40.

She snatched up her pillow and screamed into one more time. It didn't help. It was now 6:45.

Her heart picked up, fluttering like a bird. She cursed under her breath and paced some more.

It was 6:50 when she threw on her shoes and stomped out the common room. Marching down the corridors, she almost turned back several times but, for some reason, she kept going until she was climbing up the tower's step.

He was already there, standing stock still as he watched her climb up the last step, his expression carefully neutral.

She stayed near the stairs, careful to keep a healthy distance between them.

"Thank you for coming," he said quietly.

She didn't answer, only stared at him.

He pursed his lips and nodded once. "Okay. Okay," he murmured. "I-I didn't mean...today, I was—" He sighed loudly. "What I did today—my behavior toward you, was wrong. I don't think you could possibly know how much..." He faltered, looking a little lost.

Hermione had to fight the herculean urge to roll her eyes. Had this snarky, pampered boy never apologized in his life before?

The silence ticked on and Hermione's frustration only grew. It was quickly overtaking her stubbornness to stay silent.

"Was it something I did?" she asked, her voice softer than she liked. She tried for a harder tone. "Because if I did something wrong, I would've appreciated if you just told me instead of jumping down my throat."

He looked at her in surprise. "No, you didn't do anything wrong."

She raised her hands in exasperation. "Okay, then what happened?"

He rubbed a rough hand against his mouth then straightened his back. "My father has a hearing tomorrow."

That was...not what she expected him to say.

"I found out a few days ago and it just..." He clenched his hands. "It made me so angry." His voice was soft but there was an edge to it. "You see, he's still trying to pull whatever strings and favors he has to reduce his life sentence," he said bitterly.

"Tomorrow? But I didn't see anything about it in the Prophet."

"You wouldn't," he said, his eye sliding away to peer up a the darkening sky. "It's all very hush hush. Nothing will be announced until after the hearing."

"Do you think he'll be let free?" she said, keeping her voice soft, careful. He reminded her of skittish deer.

"No, not a chance but it could be reduced," he said. "My mother has also requested I be there for it too." He took a shaky breath. "Look, Granger, I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to be cross with you. I don't think you realize how much—"

He ran a rough hand through his hair. "You don't deserve to be talked to like that, especially after everything that has gone on between us. I'm not trying to excuse my behavior. It's just the idea of my father trying to...to manipulate his way out of his punishment is infuriating. He ruined our lives. But taking my anger out on you was wrong."

For a moment, his careful mask slipped and he looked at her so imploringly she couldn't help feeling a little sorry for him.

"Is that a Draco Malfoy version of an apology?" she finally said.

He gave her a tight smile. "Pathetic, isn't it?"

"Honestly, I've heard worse." She let out a loud, slow breath. "Fine, apology accepted," she said, looking at him sideways. "So, you'll be gone tomorrow and the rest of the weekend?"

"No, I'll be staying at the Manor Friday and Saturday night, but will be back Sunday morning," he said, sounding relieved. "Can't miss Slytherin kick Hufflepuff's arse on Sunday."

"Oh, I forgot about that."

He stared at her. "What?Are you serious? You forgot?" He was almost sputtering. "But your best friends played quidditch. How do you not..." He blinked down at her, his face puzzled. "You truly are hopeless, aren't you?"

She rolled her eyes. "Please. You're not the first person to lecture me about quidditch," she said. "I'll have you know I've been mocked loads of time by just about everyone."

He quirked his head. "Is...that a brag?"

She threw up her hands. "Whatever, Malfoy. I'm just saying you're not that special."

He smiled at that—a warm, genuine one that brightened his entire face.

Without thinking, she smiled back. Then, when the comfortable silence turned into an awkward one, they moved toward the stairs. They ended up climbing down the stairs side by side, their shoulders bumping into each other every few steps. Every time they touched, Hermione marveled at how warm and soft he felt—like it was a revelation he wasn't made of cold stone.

"I hope tomorrow goes well," Hermione said, once they reached the bottom of the stairs.

Malfoy nodded once and murmured a thanks before turning to make his way down to the dungeons. She watched him as he walked away. He didn't strut the way he used to, but he still walked with long, purposeful strides, his head held high.