Hello! I don't know what made me think I could post bi-weekly since I'm a super slow writer *face palm emoji* Anyway, my apologies for taking longer than I said I would. Most likely, I'll try to post bi-weekly but it'll probably me weekly instead. We shall see! Anyway, I hope everyone is having a good day and doing well!

The crowd was rowdy enough to make the quidditch stands sway and bounce. And loud too. Hermione's ears were ringing. That didn't take into account for the wind which was blowing so hard, strands of her hair was coming out of its tight braid. She clutched at her robes desperately as they flapped against her body and her feet were frozen.

At this point, the match was just a jumble of whizzing bodies and flying balls and she prayed that someone—anyone—would catch that stupid snitch! Or perhaps one of those bludgers could bludgeon her and put her out of her misery.

Why was she here again?

Then she noticed the first raindrop.

She groaned. "Seriously?"

A minute later, it was a downpour. It only seemed to excite the crowd further. Hermione fumbled for her wand but it seemed McGonagall had the same idea. Across the stands, she saw the headmistress conjure a massive rain barrier over the crowd. It didn't do much though. This rainstorm was the whipping kind—the kind that liked to fly horizontally. She was soaked in minutes.

She scrunched her face against the onslaught then hitched the collar of her robe up to her chin. She turned to Ginny. "I'm leaving!"

Ginny grinned at her. "How? The stands are packed! No way out!" she yelled, gesturing along their aisle. It was an endless line of students on their feet, packed like sardines and screaming like mad.

Hermione scowled. This must've been a fire hazard!

"You're in it for the long haul!" Ginny said, jostling her with an one arm hug. Then she turned back to the match and screamed along with the crowd.

Another wave of rain sprayed her in the face and it was all she could do not to hex herself into oblivion. She could've been nestled in the common room right now, next to a roaring fire, with a giant book on her lap and a mug of hot tea in her hand. Instead, she was here. Getting drenched and chilled to the bone.

And, of course, he wasn't here!

She glared at the Slytherin stands. She couldn't tell if she was more annoyed with the weather or that she ended up worrying about Malfoy all weekend. He said he would be here. It was weird that he wasn't.

When did she start worrying about him anyway?

An icy drop of water slid under her collar and down her back. She winced and stomped her foot in frustration.

Then, she saw him, emerging from the top of the Slytherin stands. She watched him as he squeezed into the end of an aisle. He was dressed in his usual formal clothes and he looked tired but he was smiling. Then his eyes turned to the Gryffindor stands and Hermione looked away hastily. For a moment, she considered pretending to cheer with the crowd but that only made her feel ridiculous. She was braver than that—she had broken into Gringotts and rode a bloody dragon, for Merlin's sake!

Taking a deep breath, she met his eyes. He was smiling at her, no doubt taking in her soaked appearance. A gust of wet wind smacked her in the face. Wincing, she wiped her face with her sleeve. Malfoy bit his lip to keep from laughing. Of course, he looked just fine—annoyingly unflappable, with his white blond hair blowing perfectly in the wind.

Prat.

She laughed too. What choice did she have?

He shook his head and turned his attention to the match, cheering on his house. Fifteen minutes later, Slytherin's seeker caught the snitch and Hermione almost wept with relief. The Slytherin stands erupted and she couldn't hold back the smile as she watched all the Slytherins pile onto each other in celebration. And Malfoy—Malfoy was beaming.

The walk back to the castle took forever as everyone trudged in a single file line back to the castle, with the exception of Syltherins who were still celebrating on the quidditch pitch.

Even with drying spells and water repellant charms, the rain was so relentless, Hermione just gave up and accepted how drenched she was. And really, there was a freedom in realizing she couldn't get anymore wet. Ginny barely noticed the rain as she and her teammates talked excitedly about strategy and playing styles. Hermione tried to pay attention but it was no use—she could only focus on the water sloshing around in her shoes.

The moment she entered the castle, she left Ginny and her teammates and ran up the main staircase, longing for a hot shower and clean clothes. Her shoes made loud, embarrassing, squelching noises against the slick stone floor and judging by the way her wet hair clung to her neck and face, she was sure she looked like a drowned rat.

She rounded a corner and speed walked down a quiet corridor, her shoes loud in the silence. A soft touch on her elbow had her reeling around, squealing in surprise, and for a horrifying moment, her shoes slipped. The only reason she didn't do the splits right then and there was the steadying hand on her elbow. She gazed up into Malfoy's startled face then, of course, she slipped again. She ended up doing this awkward, jerking dance until Malfoy helped steady her again.

She laughed—she couldn't help it—then snorted, which was just embarrassing.

"Easy, Granger," he said, chuckling. "You okay?"

She nodded and he let her go and stepped back, his gaze taking in her appearance.

He smiled wider. "I'm dying to hear the story of how you fell into the Black Lake. Which is what happened to you, right?"

"Ha ha, Malfoy, you're hilarious," she deadpanned.

He, of course, looked perfectly dry—his hair only slightly tousled.

"How are you not wet?" she demanded. "The walk alone to the castle should've had you dripping. How is that possible?"

"Well, there's this incredible thing called magic," he said slowly. "And magic can do all sorts of magical things, like keep one dry in a rainstorm. We fashion magical wooden sticks called wands—"

She smacked his arm. "You prat!"

"Ow! Okay, no need to get violent!" He huffed a laugh. "If your mother is Narcissa Malfoy, you learn at a very early age that there are twenty-two spells that will keep you perfectly dry in a rainstorm or typhoon or any other such weather systems."

She raised her eyebrows. "Twenty-two?"

"Or course." He drew his wand. "Watch and learn, Granger," he said, whirling his wand over her head. "Purus arfacio!"

The air rippled around her and suddenly, an intense heat pressed into her body, seeping into clothes. For a moment, her skin felt feverish, then there was a puff of steam and her clothes and hair were dry.

"Wow," she said, glancing down at her dry clothes. Her skin felt hot and tight, like every ounce of moisture had been leeched out of it. Her hair took on a strange weightlessness and when she reached up to touch, it felt brittle and frizzy and huge. "Wow," she said again, patting it down. "My hair, it's..."

"Large?" Malfoy said, looking thoughtful. Then she saw his lips twitch.

She smacked his arm again. "You better not be laughing at me, Malfoy!"

"Wouldn't dream of it, Granger," he said, smirking.

They stood there for a moment, watching each other trying not to laugh. Then the light mood shifted into something heavier.

"How did the hearing go?" she asked hesitantly. "You—you don't have to say anything, of course."

Malfoy sighed. "I know but I should." He straightened up. "I should," he said, his voice firm. "The hearing was short, thank Merlin. His life sentence was reduced down to 10 years. Which is to say, not good. My mother, she..." He glanced down at the ground. "...she worries about his mind. Judging by the way he looked, I'm not sure if he'll make it 10 years."

"I can't imagine what that would be like," she said.

"I...don't really know what to make of it either," he said softly.

They were quiet for a moment.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry," she finally said.

"Thank you, Hermione."

She smiled up at him, hoping she looked encouraging. "Congratulations, by the way."

He quirked his head at her. "What?"

"On your Slytherin win, of course."

He laughed softly. "I see you aren't completely hopeless."

She rolled her eyes and backed away from him. "Just a little bit hopeless then?"

"Just a little."

"My eyeballs feel like they're going to fall out of my skull."

Hermione looked up from her book and leaned back to see Malfoy rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hands. The library was quiet this time of evening, the torches flickering golden light against the books on the shelves.

"Well, we've been at this for hours. Must be close to curfew," she said, rubbing her shoulders. "We should call it a night. Don't want to damage your precious eyeballs."

Malfoy's gaze snapped to her face, his eyes narrowing. "Thank you for acknowledging how precious my eyes are, Granger. I always knew you were a clever girl." He returned to his notes and sighed. "We've been at this for over a week." He smiled slyly. "Three days and nine hours since Slytherin pulverized Hufflepuff into the ground."

Hermione groaned. "How many more times are you going to mention that stupid match?"

Malfoy grinned. "Until forever. You don't know me, Granger, but I will mention every match Slytherin wins for the at least three decades."

She groaned again and dropped her forehead on the table and Malfoy laughed.

"But in all seriousness, we haven't gotten much done in the last week," Malfoy said. "Even my mother has hit a wall."

Hermione fiddled with her quill. "You're right. Ginny's still helping me but she can only do so much with all her commitments. Maybe we should bring Neville in. He has an interesting way of approaching things." She nodded once, her decision made. "We should all have a meeting."

Malfoy stared at her. "Wait? A meeting? With who?"

"Me, you, Ginny and Neville."

"Uh, yeah, no."

"You just admitted we hit a wall. And I gave you a solution."

"I didn't mean doing that," Malfoy said, frowning deeply. "I was just venting."

"Look at this," she said, waving the parchment with all their translations. "We're almost there but you're right, we're spinning our wheels at this point."

He made face. "What do wheels have to do with this?"

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head a little. "Sorry, it's a muggle expression. I do think we need help though."

"Or," he said, drawing out the word, "maybe its time for us to sneak into the Restricted Section."

"The Restricted Section?" she said doubtfully. "It's possible that may help but I think another person might be better."

"Do you not have faith in your considerable abilities, Granger?"

"This isn't about my—wait, did you just admit I have considerable abilities?"

He leaned back in his chair, his expression haughty. "Maybe."

"Oh my god, you said it. I heard you."

His mouth twitched. "So what? I would be an idiot not to acknowledge the obvious."

She grinned at that then scribbled in her notebook.

"What are you writing in there?" he asked, twisting his head to read it.

"Oh, I'm jotting down the time that you said I had considerable abilities," she replied, scrunching her nose. "Just so we both don't forget."

He snorted. "Like you forget anything."

She barked a loud laugh then covered her mouth.

He shushed her and smiled. "You're going to get us kicked out of the library!" he whispered.

"Sorry, I'm sorry," she whispered back.

"Merlin, Granger," he said quietly as he gathered his things. "What am I going to do with you?"

She glanced up at him and smiled while she put her things away and she didn't stop smiling until long after they left the library.

The torchlights glinted off the stone walls in the fourth floor corridor. It had been two days since her decision to meet with Ginny and Neville. Hermione had to practically chase Malfoy down after supper and drag him to the meeting place. Merlin, she couldn't believe how much of a baby he had been.

"Are you sure this is a good idea, Granger?" Malfoy asked. He was quiet most of their walk.

"I told you, we need the extra eyes," she said.

"Yes, but your friends hate me," he said petulantly.

"They don't hate you, Malfoy, they just distrust you," she said, then added quickly, "and also intensely dislike you."

"Oh, that's so much better then! They're going to blast me to bits when my back is turned."

"No way. They would never hex someone when their back was turned. They would do it right to your face," she said smiling. "It's the Gryffindor way."

"This isn't funny. You're making jokes and this isn't funny," he grumbled.

"Look, they would never hex you, or curse you, or kick your arse or whatever, okay? They know you're helping me and that I trust you and they in turn trust me," she said in what she hoped was a convincing tone.

She turned to look at him, but he wasn't next to her. Glancing behind her, she saw that he stopped and he was watching her closely. An expression flickered across his face but it was gone, replaced with a smirk.

"Trust me, Granger?" he said, sauntering toward her. "Quite possibly the dumbest decision of your life."

"No doubt," she said dryly. "Now, come on. We don't want to keep them waiting."

Gesturing him to follow, she began walking down the corridor again.

"Where exactly are we going again?" he asked.

"It's one of the rooms used for prefect meetings. Ginny has access to all of them but this one is used the least."

He made an irritated sound then muttered, "Or the one where no one will hear me scream."

"For the love of Merlin, my friends aren't going to hurt you!"

"Really? Tell that to my mother when they find my corpse," he muttered.

"Oh my god," she groaned.

"Tell me, Granger, will you help them hide my body?"

She glanced up at him quickly then narrowed her eyes.

"No," she said. "I'll just incinerate you. Or maybe feed you to the giant squid."

"Cold-blooded." He grinned. "I like it."

She grinned back and pointed to the door of the meeting room. He made a dramatic show of opening the door and Hermione couldn't hold back the laugh.

The room was small, with bare stone walls and no windows. A wet, moldy smell clung to the air. Rusty lanterns hung from the ceiling casting yellow light onto a large wooden table and a pair of chairs. She could see why it was rarely used.

The moment she laid eyes on Neville and Ginny her lighthearted mood dropped like a rock. Both of them were watching Malfoy warily, with Ginny looking downright hostile.

"Thank you for meeting us," Hermione said, trying not to fidget.

Neville nodded at the greeting but Ginny only crossed her arms and scowled harder at Malfoy.

Well, this was bloody uncomfortable. Maybe Malfoy was right about this being a mistake.

She straightened up and approached the table, setting her bag down. Malfoy followed her and planted himself next to her, his expression like stone.

Rifling through her bag, she pulled out copies of their notes and arranged them in front Neville and Ginny. She opened her mouth to begin their meeting but Ginny spoke up first.

"Before you start, Hermione, I need to get a few things off my chest," Ginny said, glaring at Malfoy.

Hermione's stomach clenched. She recognized that look on Ginny's face. It was a look she reserved before insulting or hexing someone into oblivion, sometimes both.

"I don't like you, Malfoy," Ginny said. "I never have but that's beside the point—"

"What exactly is your point then?" Malfoy sneered, his old, defensive arrogance returning in full force.

Hermione blinked at his change in demeanor.

Ginny's scowl deepened. "I don't trust you. And I don't know what kind of game you're playing but I certainly don't like that you're playing it with my friend. Do you think a short amount of time with you not being a complete git absolves you of the abuse you've heaped on my friends and family? Do you think you're fooling—"

"You hate me. You think I'm playing games. You think I'm the devil," Malfoy said, his voice apathetic. "Fine. Whatever. Can we get back to the problem at hand?"

Hermione kept her voice level. "Look, we need—"

"Oh, you mean the problem your family created? The problem where your mere presence brings pain to Hermione?" Ginny snapped.

Malfoy's eyes flashed with anger. "Yes, that problem! The problem we're trying to find a solution—"

"The solution!?" Ginny yelled, slamming her hands onto the table. "I don't doubt finding the solution helps you in some way! Maybe helps with your standing in the magical community? Be friends with one of the war heroes?

Malfoy's nostrils flared. "You don't know what the bloody hell you're talking—"

"The big difference between you and me, Malfoy, is that I actually care about Hermione," Ginny snarled. "You, however, just care about your own arse!"

Malfoy's face was absolutely mutinous. They were seconds away from flinging hexes at each other, Hermione was sure of it. She stepped forward, hoping she could calm them down when the pain struck. In the blink of an eye, the familiar burning roared to life, slashing up her arm and past her shoulder. Her legs faltered and she keeled forward as it blazed a trail down her back. She could hear voices in the distance. Hands grasped her shoulders. Her vision flickered, narrowing. Gentle fingers curled around her neck and the pain evaporated.

Her face was wet with tears.

Ginny's face materialized in front of her, her face white. Behind her, Neville looked to be on the verge of panic.

It was then she realized she was leaning against something—Malfoy. He had his arm around her shoulders, helping her stay on her feet as her legs trembled violently. He felt solid and warm. Safe.

She looked up at him and met his worried eyes.

"If you do care about her," Malfoy said, sounding tired but determined. "Then you will listen to what we have to say. It's bloody important."

Ginny looked to be on the verge of tears. She nodded and took Hermione's hand. Neville pulled up a chair and, carefully, Malfoy and Ginny guided her to sit down. She took a deep breath and wiped her tears away.

Malfoy peered down at her. "You sit here and rest. I'll do the talking."

With Ginny by her side, Malfoy walked over to the table, pointing to their notes and began explaining what they needed. It didn't take long. Malfoy had a succinct, clear way of explaining things.

Neville leafed through the notes, mulling over one section in particular. "So, we only need to translate the remaining words. There aren't many. I'll run them by my grams. Older folks can have a knack for rare words." He smiled a little. "I'll explain its for an assignment," he added. "Have you thought about testing the incantation?"

Malfoy stared at him. "What do you mean?"

"Well, how are you going to test the safety of it?"

"I don't understand," Malfoy said, his eyebrows drawn down. "I've never heard of testing the safety of something like this."

"I haven't—" Hermione's voice faltered, her throat dry.

Silently, Malfoy pulled out his wand and a quill from his robes. He tapped the quill and it turned into a simple, green teacup, then he filled it with water and handed it to Hermione.

She murmured a thanks and took a sip then tried again. "I haven't heard of that either, Neville."

Neville flushed a little, looking self conscious but he pressed on anyway. "Well, your scar is cursed and you believe this passage here," he traced a finger on the parchment, "has the counter curse but the translation is pretty tricky. What if we get the pronunciations wrong? What if we don't get all the details just right?"

"What are you saying?" Malfoy demanded, his eyes boring into Neville. "That we're going to blow up Hermione's arm?"

Neville didn't flinch from Malfoy's tone. "Maybe."

"Okay," Hermione said slowly. "Yes, theoretically that could happen but it's very unlikely."

"No, that will not happen," Malfoy said emphatically. "I would never—It's going to work. It has to!"

"We could do what the Ministry does when it tests spells," Ginny said. "They use a testing dummy, right?"

"A dummy that reacts to spells like a human body?" Malfoy answered impatiently. "Yes, of course! Why didn't we think of that? Oh, wait—it's because they won't let anyone who isn't a high-ranking medical official anywhere near it."

Hermione shot Malfoy a warning look. "They're very rare, Ginny. There's only one in all of England."

"You're Hermione Granger, best friend to Harry Potter! I think they'll give you a pass and let you use the bloody thing," Ginny said, glaring at Malfoy.

"Do you even know how the Ministry works, Weasley? I know your father does. Even after a bloody war that exposed them as sniveling, useless bureaucrats, they haven't changed one bit, no matter how much they try to convince us otherwise. They like their little secrets. It makes them feel powerful and in control," Malfoy said, his voice rising. "They wouldn't let Merlin himself use it if he popped back into existence!"

"Oh, and I'm sure you know about those secrets, don't you, Malfoy!" Ginny snapped. "Let's face it, you don't want us to approach the Ministry because then we would have to explain why—"

"Jumping Ginger." Neville said out of the blue.

Hermione glanced over at Neville. "What?"

"Jumping Ginger," he repeated, warming up to the idea. "It was used to test spells and hexes hundreds of years ago."

"I've never heard of that," Hermione said, her curiosity piqued.

"Well, it's not in any recently published books, at least not any at Hogwarts, maybe at St. Mungo's. Sprout told me one day when we were harvesting them. It's considered outdated now," Neville said excitedly. "Blimey! Do I know something you don't, Hermione?"

She smiled at him. "So it would seem. But it does makes sense, considering the type of potions it's in. How does it work?"

"Much like the dummy, I reckon. Though I don't think it reacts exactly like a human body would. Just enough to know if it would blow your arm up, I suppose."

"You suppose?" Malfoy said through gritted teeth, his patience finally spent.

"Well, it's better than nothing," Hermione said calmly. "And it's getting late. We'll talk more about this later." She took a deep breath and looked at her friends. "Thank you for helping us."

Hesitantly, she met Malfoy's eyes and her heart sank. She was used to seeing him relaxed and warm. Even his carefully neutral expressions had a soft feel to them. Now, the look on his face was cold and harsh. She hadn't seen that look from him for awhile and she hated it.

He walked over to her and as she tried to hand him back his teacup, he merely shook his head, his eyes like ice. "Granger, we'll talk tomorrow."

She smiled up at him, hoping for a tiny one in return, even a slight softening of his features. Instead, his eyes slid away from hers and he turned to leave, giving Neville one curt nod and ignoring Ginny altogether. Without a backwards glance, he was gone, leaving Hermione with a dull weight in her chest.

She took a deep breath, telling herself not to take it personally.

Carefully, she got to her feet. Ginny hovered next to her, her hand at Hermione's elbow. Neville gathered the notes and placed them carefully in Hermione's bag and slung it over his shoulder. They made their way back to Gryffindor tower with Neville doing most of the talking—mainly about the properties of Jumping Ginger and how versatile it was.

When they reached the common room, Hermione gave Neville a hug which left him blushing and fleeing to find his friends. Then, she and Ginny took a seat on the sofa closest to the fire. She tucked her feet in and cradled the teacup in her hands, trying not to fidget under Ginny's stare.

"I think...I think I was wrong," Ginny finally said, looking bewildered. "I think Malfoy does care about you."

Hermione opened her mouth then shook her head. "I don't know about that."

"No, he does." Ginny shook her head, not looking thrilled with the idea. "The way he is around you...I've never seen him act like that around anyone."

Hermione's cheeks heated. "Maybe," she mumbled.

Ginny stared into the fire. "I'm sorry if I made you uncomfortable in there."

"What?"

"When I yelled at Malfoy," Ginny said. She held up her hand. "I'm not sorry about yelling at him though, for the record. But I am sorry if it put you in a weird spot."

Hermione stared down at the teacup. It was a soft, spring green, unlike the deep, rich greens of the Slytherin colors. "You have a every right to be upset with him, Ginny. Our past with him is..." She sighed loudly. "Well, it's not good. But working with him, spending time with him—it's complicated things, I guess."

"Of course it has," Ginny said. She gave Hermione a reassuring smile. "Besides all that, what matters right now is that your scar will be gone soon."

"Yes, you're right." She smiled back. "Thank you, Ginny."

Ginny's smile turned impish. "And what also matters is I'm going to need help on my Potions essay."

Hermione gasped a laugh. "I see how it is! Alright, bring your stuff over here."

"I didn't mean now!"

"Too late, Ginny. You put it out there and now there'll be no procrastinating."

Ginny groaned in defeat and went to grab her things. Hermione laughed as she watched her friend trudge up to her dorm room. Then, she remembered the way Malfoy looked when he left their meeting and her laughter died in her throat. She fiddled with the teacup, brushing her fingertips over the lip of the cup then she sighed and cradled it against her chest, waiting for Ginny to return.