This is the first new chapter I've written for this story in over a year. I hope you like it.

It was in Herbology that it happened. Gryffindor had three classes with the Slytherins, and Herbology wasn't one of them, but Slytherin, I knew, had Magical Creatures right now with Hufflepuff, and I could see them out on the lawn. I stood beside a pane of clear glass that was set (sort of like a window) into the foggier panes that formed the greenhouse walls. One pale gold head stood out among the black robes. I couldn't tell what creature they were frantically chasing, but I could see, quite clearly, when the pale gold head tripped and went flying.

And I could hear the derisive laughter from the lawn at the Malfoy bereft of his dignity; he started walking (limping, I noticed) toward the castle alone.

My hand was in the air before I knew it or could regret it; Professor Longbottom nodded to me. "Yes, Weasley?" Neville Longbottom was an old friend of my parents and came to our house frequently, but at school we tended to keep separate.

"Can I…erm…I have to go to the bathroom," I said. I was prepared, if necessary, to make vague references to womanly problems, which tended to scare male teachers, but it didn't come to such a pass. He nodded, and I ducked out of the greenhouse, making a beeline for the limping, gold-crowned figure that was only partway to the castle.

And then I stopped. What the hell am I doing? But my feet didn't really care, and they started up again, carrying me with rather frightening speed to the castle. "Malfoy," I called out when I was close to do so without bellowing like a fool.

What the hell am I doing? I wondered again.

He turned, and I couldn't name the expression that flickered across his face before it settled back into sullen petulance mixed with vague pain. "What do you want, Weasley?" he demanded, but not like he really meant it.

"I saw you trip," I said, wondering yet again what the hell I was doing. "But I'm going to the bathroom."

He snorted. Just a little. "Yes," he said, "I tripped. Hard. I couldn't tell if it was a Tripping Charm or someone's foot, but Eleanor Goyle is accomplished at Tripping Charms and her twin brother Ellis has very long legs." He glanced down. "It's probably broken."

"If it was broken you couldn't walk," I said. Mother didn't like healing with magic, mostly because it was the only kind of magic she wasn't amazing at, and so for the various scrapes my brother and I got into she preferred to use Muggle apparatus. Dad always laughed and shook his head, but he couldn't do any better. But to make a long story short, I had picked up…a bit. And certainly I knew more healing than Mum. "It's probably just sprained. Here, sit down, I'll look—" I stopped short, my cheeks suddenly burning. What the hell am I doing?

"Get the hell away from me, Weasley!" he shouted suddenly, his voice louder than necessary. My cheeks burned still redder, and I leapt away from him as if scalded. But we were still going the same place, more or less, and I couldn't really get away. I matched my pace to his, scolding myself furiously.

Yet once we entered the castle, he turned to me. "Sorry about that, Weasley," he said, his voice still terse, but it was an apology.

"It's fine," I said, my voice frosty.

"I'm serious," he said. "I didn't mean to jump down your throat like that, I just… Forget it." His cheeks were burning scarlet as well.

"Fine." I was all set to flounce off in a huff, go to the bathroom (just so I could say I had been there) and sulk for a while, but a voice, one I had been half expecting, called me back.

"Wait." I turned. He was sitting on the floor with a very forlorn expression on his face. He resembled a kicked puppy.

I do not kick puppies. I love puppies. But everyone knows what a kicked puppy looks like, and Malfoy looked like a kicked puppy at that moment.

I took a deep breath and glanced skyward as if asking for divine strength (at least, I hoped that that was the impression I gave) and looked back at him. "Yes?" And this had better be the last 'bugger off, no, wait, come back, no, bugger off!'

"Could you, erm, actually fix my, erm, ankle?" he asked. He asked nicely, and something told me that Scorpius Malfoy wasn't really accustomed to asking for things nicely.

When I had picked my jaw up off the ground and made sure my voice still worked, I asked what seemed to be a fairly simple question. "Why me? Why not Madame Pomfrey?" Sure, she was ancient (Mum and Dad had told me about her) but she was still an amazing healer.

Malfoy grimaced. "Let's just say that I'm avoiding the hospital wing." When I looked skeptical, he sighed. "Remember Fritz? The Beater whose ribs got completely smashed by a Bludger?" He was a Slytherin, and I hadn't really cared, and what did he have to do with anything anyway? "Please?"

"Fine," I said. "But it won't be half as good as what Madame Pomfrey could do." He nodded, sat on a bench, and removed his shoe and sock. Holding my breath a little bit (I didn't really want to know what his feet smelled like) I took his injured ankle and did what was necessary, then took his sock. I pulled at it, prodded it with my wand, and pulled some more, so that it vaguely resembled a bandage you could use on a sprained ankle. "I hope you don't like this sock," I said, wrapping it tightly.

"Thanks," he said.

I didn't say anything. I stood, dusted off my knees, and went to the bathroom. I didn't know what to say.

Reviews are greatly appreciated, as always.