Dear Diary,

I was so scared that this day would come. I felt like it was ready, and that it would be soon, but not this soon ― Umbridge has taken over Hogwarts.

The wonderful Ministry of Magic has decided Dumbledore unfit to be headmaster here, which only a select few of us know is a lie. Everyone else seems to have turned on Dumbledore; they think he's absolutely mad.

Harry, Ron, and I have this Defense Against the Dark Arts group that we've organized, but Umbridge wants to disband all meetings and clubs that aren't approved by her. I doubt we'd get an approval, seeing as we're supporting the very thing she's against.

She doesn't want us to learn real Defense Against the Dark Arts. Well, we can "learn" about it, but we can't practice it, even though practicing it is how people generally learn things. She says that it's too dangerous for children to try out at such a young age. Harry took down Voldemort as a baby and we can't try out defensive magic! Everything's so insane.

That's just it, though. The Ministry of Magic doesn't want anyone to believe Voldemort's back because it would soil their reputation as the best defense for the witches and wizards of the world. They want everyone to think that they've got everything under control. Absolute rubbish, if you ask anyone with a shred of sanity in their minds.

Harry saw Voldemort come back last year and I believe him wholeheartedly. I believe what he saw was true. I don't doubt it for a moment. And if poor Cedric had lived to tell the tale, he would tell everyone that he saw him, too. I just know he would. Cedric would side with Harry after everything. They were friends and allies in that game, regardless of whether or not it was a competition. Cedric was too honest to lie about something so important; I just wish he was here to provide another witness.

Umbridge believes that we do have a Defense Against the Dark Arts group arranged. We call ourselves Dumbledore's Army, or the DA for short (name courtesy of Ginny). I'm so glad that so many students turned up to fight for the right thing. We've got all kinds of people ― except we don't have any Slytherins.

You see, since Umbridge is absolutely convinced that we're plotting against her, she's organized this group called the "Inquisitorial Squad," named so after her, the High Inquisitor. They're just like prefects, except they have the power to dock points from other students if they feel like they're misbehaving. I think anyone could probably tell where this is going.

There are only a few members in the Inquisitorial Squad because they're handpicked by the Head Toad herself. If they feel like someone is disobeying the rules, then they can dock points. Like I said before, you can tell where this is going. The members of the Inquisitorial Squad have been docking points from innocent students if they felt like doing it. They come up with the stupidest reasons for doing it, too; I got docked a few points because I was "rude" about Umbridge and because I was also a mudblood, all courtesy of one Draco Malfoy.

I'm trying my best not to worry too much about it. I mean, we've got bigger problems to deal with. As I keep saying, Malfoy and I have come to a bit of a common ground, and though neither of us particularly like the other, we're both keeping secrets for each other, just out of common courtesy. The secret of mine that he has about Dumbledore's Army is irrelevant now, because Umbridge already suspects it's there. He doesn't know much about it otherwise. The secret of his that I'm keeping about his family doesn't seem tempting at all for me to share with anyone, because at this point, it's the only thing that I can really hold onto as evidence that he isn't heartless, even though he can be a bit cruel sometimes...it's just a nice reminder that he's a not-bad person who just does bad things, naturally.

And with a potential conspiracy looming over our heads here at Hogwarts, I think that what Draco Malfoy's doing should be the least of my troubles.

― Hermione

Hermione set her diary down and sighed. She tried to avoid it, she knew that she did . . . but she wrote yet another message in it pertaining to Malfoy.

It never mattered what she tried to focus on. There were more pressing matters at hand, but she couldn't stop it. She was honestly beginning to believe what Dumbledore had said; that she might actually befriend Malfoy. She felt like she was believing it more and more each day, and to be honest, she was hoping it was true.

She didn't hate Malfoy anymore, she was fully aware of that by now. She felt as if she simply misunderstood him at first. She was more torn up that it took until her fifth year at Hogwarts to realize it...

Hermione got up from her bed and walked to the door. She had remembered that Quidditch was that day ― she'd have to go and support Ron.

Hermione made her way to a row of bleachers that was close to the front. She watched the Quidditch team walk out onto the pitch. She smiled, remembering the days when Harry was so young and became Gryffindor's new seeker, before he had to worry about what was happening with Voldemort and the Ministry. . . .

Comparatively, not many people had showed up to watch this game. There were a few people scattered here and there, but there weren't huge crowds. Hermione felt this would be a nice relief for the players, but some appeared to be disappointed that they wouldn't be able to prove themselves in front of a wider audience.

Hermione looked across the field. A few Slytherins were grouped together, with what looked like a homemade banner that read "Weasley Is Our King." She scanned the crowd to find it comprised of Pansy Parkinson, Millicent Bulstrode, Daphne Greengrass, Gregory Goyle, and Vincent Crabbe. No Draco Malfoy. A couple of other Slytherins were around the group as well, but she didn't recognize them. Still, no Draco Malfoy. She raised her eyebrows curiously at this revelation, but just assumed that he still wasn't well, although she could've sworn that it was only caused by dread that she might tell everyone about his family problems...

Hermione glanced to her right, noticing a brunette Slytherin girl standing beside the bench row. She immediately recognized the girl as Charlotte Butler.

"Er . . . hi," said Charlotte, smiling nervously. "Could I ― could I maybe join you?"

Hermione smiled. She had recently forgotten all about House rivalries and such, thanks to her potential growing friendship with Malfoy. "Of course, please, sit down."

Charlotte sat beside Hermione and looked across the pitch at the group of Slytherins. "Sorry about them," she said. "I know Weasley's your friend . . . they just do things like that. . . ."

"It's fine," said Hermione, shrugging. "We just learn to ignore it after a while. I mean, they aren't hurting anyone physically or anything . . . it's just being spiteful." Hermione eyed Charlotte curiously for a moment. "Not to be rude or anything, but ― why aren't you with them?"

"For that very reason," Charlotte replied. "I thought they were being immature, so I left and decided to talk with someone who appeared to have a bit more . . . class."

Hermione grinned. "Thank you. I've noticed that you're not quite like them all. . . ."

"Oh, not at all," said Charlotte, giggling. "My entire family was in Ravenclaw, so this came as a bit of a shock, really. . . ." She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Don't tell anyone, but . . . I'm not even a pureblood."

"I like you all the more for it," said Hermione, laughing. "Not that I don't like some purebloods; I mean, take Ron for example ―" Hermione winced as he nearly fell off of his broom, dodging a rogue Bludger.

"Weasley's a pureblood?" asked Charlotte. "I never would've guessed. . . ."

"Most people wouldn't," said Hermione. "His parents are very fond of Muggles, particularly his father. . . ."

Charlotte seemed happy with this information. "That's not really a bad thing, though, isn't it? I wish more people in Slytherin ignored blood status, it's just such petty cause for arguments now. . . . It's hard to find other Slytherins who feel the same way, even if there's muggleborn and halfblood Slytherins out there."

"It doesn't surprise me," said Hermione. "It's usually their parents, right? They raise their children to believe that anyone who's not a pureblood is somehow inferior."

"Which isn't true at all," said Charlotte, "judging by the marks you get in school."

Hermione blushed and smiled. "Thank you ― that's very nice of you. From what I've heard, you're quite smart yourself."

"Hm?" Charlotte was temporarily fixated on one of the players. "Oh, well ― I just make high marks in some classes, like Potions and things. . . ."

"Slytherins always seem to be good at Potions," said Hermione, smiling.

"We love Professor Snape," said Charlotte. "He's our Head of House, we're bound to prefer his classes over others. . . . I'm sure Gryffindors love Professor McGonagall, as well?"

"Naturally," said Hermione. "Just our House pride coming in." She glanced over the pitch and noticed that the players began to disperse. "Oh, I guess the game's finished. . . . Hufflepuff won." She sighed, but stood up and smiled at Charlotte. "Well, it was very nice to talk with you."

"Same to you," said Charlotte, as she stood up. "Have a nice evening!"

Hermione waited in her usual spot in the school corridors, just outside of the Great Hall. She'd soon be able to figure out why Malfoy wasn't there; that is, if he decided that he'd speak today.

Harry was a little put off the entire day because he was no longer allowed to participate in Quidditch, all thanks to the school's lovely High Inquisitor and Headmistress, Professor Umbridge. Still, he supported Ron in his ventures to participate, as did Hermione, who would never have a chance of making the team; she was dreadful at Quidditch.

She looked up to see the familiar figure of Draco Malfoy making his way towards her. She remembered that he, too, was fairly good at Quidditch, when he was a Seeker for Slytherin, regardless of whether she thought he had bought his way in or not. He was built slightly smaller than most of the other boys his age. It wasn't a bad thing, of course, because it really did come in handy when trying to catch the Snitch ― even if Harry almost always caught it when he was playing.

"Hello again," said Hermione, when Malfoy stopped in front of her. "You weren't at the game today."

Malfoy looked slightly shocked that she noticed, although he tried to prepare himself for it. She was, after all, Hermione Granger, and she'd notice things like that. "Well ― yeah. I still wasn't feeling all too well. . . ."

"If it's been going on for days, you should probably see Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione, smirking. She knew very well enough that he wasn't really sick ― he was just sick of people.

"It's not that serious," said Malfoy, affirming her idea. "I think I've just been a little restless . . . losing sleep, you know?"

Hermione began walking, cueing him to join her.

"I hope everything's all right," she said, "if you're losing sleep."

"Oh, it's nothing ― nothing too important," he said. "I've just been a bit tired lately. It really doesn't matter. I'm just tired."

"Well, okay," she said, smiling. She didn't know why, but she felt just a tad happier. Maybe it was because he was trying to shut her out again, and she rather enjoyed the game of trying to get him to open up again. "Oh, and I'm sorry I grabbed your hand the other night ago, I was just so shocked that you'd apologize ―"

"Don't mention it," he said, flatly, although Hermione could notice a tinge of pink near his ears. "I thought we were over that. And I don't care that you grabbed my hand, I probably needed some sense knocked into me anyway ―" The pink soon ran through the rest of his face, and he shook his head. "Doesn't matter, you wouldn't care ―"

"About what?" asked Hermione. She raised her eyebrows expectantly.

Malfoy leaned against a wall and looked at her. "You've been, er . . . pretty good at keeping secrets, right?"

"I haven't said a word to anyone about it," Hermione replied, "and I don't intend to."

"Right," said Malfoy, looking down at his feet. "Well, I just wanted to let you know ― after all, I apologized to you, I could go a bit further with it ― I'm kind of, er . . . glad . . . that someone knows everything. . . ."

"You are?" asked Hermione. She stood beside him and tilted her head slightly to the side.

"Well, yeah," he said. "This is probably too sudden, right? I just never felt like . . . I never felt like I could tell someone so much, you know. . . . Diaries are for prats. . . ." Hermione blushed slightly, but remained silent so that he could continue. "Even if it is you, and I never wanted to tell you in the first place . . . I'm glad someone knows."

Hermione looked slightly shocked. "No one ― no one ever knew?"

"Not one," he said, "except, of course, me and my family. None of my friends know anything. Not even Pansy, who you'd think could get everything out of me," he added, with a dry laugh.

"Not even your girlfriend," said Hermione, subconsciously.

"She's not my girlfriend," said Malfoy, with a small smile growing on his face. "You should know that more than anyone."

Hermione blushed. "Oh, yeah, right . . . well, I'm pleased to know that you're happy with everything. . . ."

"Very," he said. "It's good to get things like that off of your chest. . . ." He looked at her intently for a few moments.

Hermione flushed redder and took a deep breath. "Again, I'm happy that you're happy," she said, turning her face away in a vain attempt to mask her blush. She felt as if she might die from the awkwardness, she just wanted it to end as quickly as possible. . . .

"You know, Granger," he began, "for a mudblood, you're pretty cool."

Hermione blinked. She didn't know what he was saying at that point. She felt insulted, but complimented. . . . He was becoming more and more confusing, and she didn't like it. She just assumed that it was a force of habit of his to call her a mudblood, and a force of habit of hers to react with confusion. . . .

"Er . . . thanks," she said, trying to smile. "Th ― thank you?"

"You're welcome," he said, smirking. It seemed like every night he found a new way to get back into control. "Well, an apology and a compliment; that's two for you, Granger."

"Yeah," she said, awkwardly. "Yeah, you're right."

"Of course I am," he said, walking closer to her. He stood directly in front of her and smiled. "Maybe we could . . . I don't know . . . hang out sometime?"

Hermione furrowed her brows. "Who are you and what have you done with Draco Malfoy?"

"As peers, you idiot," he said, his tone more playful than condescending.

"Well. . . ." Hermione was completely lost. She didn't know what to believe about him anymore ― his opinions and moods seemed to change every few minutes, and she didn't like it at all. He had gained control again, and there was no way for her to win at this point. "Where would we be going ― ?"

"Hogsmeade," he whispered. "Not on a school field trip, but at night. Above Hogsmeade. We could sneak out."

"I don't like where this is going," said Hermione.

"I'd just pick you up at your common room's window when everyone else is asleep and no one would notice," he said, pleased with her confusion.

Hermione shook her head. "Do you have any idea how much trouble we could get in?"

"You know what, I don't care." He leaned in to her ear. "You've got to learn to live a little. Get over yourself. Come on, G —" He stopped himself from using the name he knew so well. He instead smirked and cocked his head to the side. "Hermione." He didn't attempt to hide the fact that he noticed her pink-tinted face turning redder at the simple utterance of her name. He knew he had her. He knew he had won. "Let's raise just a little hell."

"I don't know," Hermione groaned. She was a bit wary of this side of Malfoy, because the Malfoy she knew would never ask her to hang out, even as peers . . . but her Gryffindor sense of adventure wanted to come out, and she couldn't resist. "I'll ― yeah, we can hang out. . . ."

Malfoy grinned, satisfied with his victory. "All right. In a couple of days, I'll wait outside of the Gryffindor common room's window on my broomstick around midnight or so. You'll get on there and we'll fly around for a few minutes. Nothing major."

"Why do you want to do this in the first place?" asked Hermione, not pleased at all with her subconscious decision.

"Because," he began, "I enjoy talking to people that don't try to convince me to let them slip into my bed every night. The girls are allowed to enter the boys' dorms, you know," he added, laughing.

Hermione smiled weakly. She had given in. She scowled as she watched his confident walk ahead of her; he was clearly impressed with himself for convincing her to hang out with him. He said it was only as peers, but after all of the time of being enemies, Hermione wasn't quite sure what to think.

But she enjoyed befriending him, right? She felt like every patrol, they grew a bit closer. Not necessarily as friends, but the bond between them was tighter. They came to an understanding of each other. She never thought it would manifest itself in this way, though. . . .

She didn't really know who was playing the game at this point, but Hermione felt like they both had strategies to win. Win what, she was unsure of; but she never backed down from a challenge, and was prepared to let the games begin.