Clara, to her internal shock, arrived perfectly on time to the library for her and Draco's last homework session before the end of the Christmas holidays. Other than a few students running between bookshelves, desperately cramming in any last assignments before they were due the following day, the library was as quiet as it often was.

She had only made it a few steps into the library with all of her relevant books hugged to her chest when she felt someone tap her shoulder.

"You arrived on time?" Draco jogged along to walk beside her, his eyebrows raised in slightly mocking shock. "Now I just wish I'd brought a camera along to document this moment, or maybe stolen that Creevy boy's one. He still carries that old thing around." He began to walk backwards alongside her. "Not even a smile? I was well proud of that one. And remember our agreement — you have to make regular conversation with me unless I tell you to shut up."

"Please tell me to shut up," she mumbled.

He snorted a laugh. "See? You're a funny little badger when you want to be. By the way, I brought the weakened Amortentia sample along again," he told her. "Snape recommended, for extra marks, we research further into the physical properties of the potion, and I'd imagine that'll be much easier to do with the real thing."

Clara nodded as they approached the table they usually worked at, only illuminated by a slowly burning oil lamp. "Okay," she murmured softly, placing her things down on the wooden surface.

"Wow," Draco laughed, almost humourlessly, "you really are awful at making conversation, aren't you?"

"If you'd like to talk," she began quietly with her gaze focused on the knots in the table, "what would you like to talk about?"

He shrugged and flipped open his Potions book. "You aren't a fan of Quidditch, are you?" Her head shake served as confirmation of what he'd already assumed. "Ever played?"

"I tried," she admitted. As she spoke, she nervously played with one of the buttons on her wool cardigan. "I don't like playing Quidditch."

"Why not?" he asked.

Clara was not enjoying the almost interrogative format of the conversation. "I'm not very good . . ." she trailed off into a whisper.

"You don't have to be any good at it to play Quidditch for fun anyway," he said, "so why don't you like it?"

"Um . . ." She untucked her hair from her ear in embarrassment so that it fell over her face. "I can't ride a broom. I tried, but I fall off before I can go far, and I always get injured when that happens." When she was met with silence, she felt her face heat up. "Please don't laugh at me," she whispered.

Draco made what was undeniably a sound of concealed amusement. "Sure," was all he said before he went back to his book.

Clara finally plucked up the courage to look up at him, and just as she'd expected, judging by his jaw-tightened expression, he was finding the revelation far funnier than she'd hoped. After a few seconds, he placed his right elbow on the table with a hand in his white hair, snickering to himself.

"You said you wouldn't laugh," she reminded him timidly. "I hit my head on my broom while trying to fly once and had to go to St. Mungo's."

That did it. That little extra sentence was enough to send the blond into complete hysterics. He clutched his sides and leaned over in his seat so that he was facing the floor as he wheezed with laughter.

She didn't even know what to do anymore. Despite the fact that the sound of his surprisingly childlike giggles were almost infectious, forcing a silent and brief laugh or two out of her, one thing that never failed to make her feel uncomfortable was her becoming the butt of the joke. If it weren't just the two of them in the room, she would've left by now.

"I'm –" He paused to laugh some more when he made eye contact with her, before composing himself again, "I'm sorry, but that's just so funny," he chortled. "But," he sighed slightly breathlessly, "I said I wouldn't laugh, so I won't any more. It doesn't change the fact that you're the only witch, especially a pureblood witch, who can't fly at all. I mean, how bad can a person be at such a simple thing?"

All Clara could do was shrug her shoulders. "I think it's because I'm so lanky. I don't have the build for flying."

"Crabbe and Goyle shouldn't have the build for flying — you've seen those two mountain trolls — yet they seem to defy all laws of physics the moment they hop on a broomstick," he commented.

She stopped and placed down her quill carefully. "Did you just compare me to Crabbe and Goyle?"

Draco's eyes widened. "Oh, shit — no, no, I didn't mean it like that," he insisted. "I just meant that, if Crabbe and Goyle can, despite their size, so can you, not that you're not skinny or anything. No, you're not skinny, you're just normal sized, normal . . . sized."

She saw his silver eyes move from her face down to her body, as if confirming it for himself. However, once his gaze lingered for what she believed to be just slightly longer than natural, he turned his attention back to their project.

Picking her quill back up, Clara retorted calmly and gently, "I thought I was supposed to be the awkward one."

Clara had almost let herself forget that Monday mornings meant Care of Magical Creatures with Hagrid and his growing family of Blast-Ended Screwts. Her wrist had never really felt the same since the one she was walking had yanked her across the lawn with phenomenal and terrifying strength.

The thought of doing anything of the sort in the current weather only made her feel worse. The snow had been coming down consistently for a solid week now, and a mouthful of cold wet icy yuck was a far from appealing thought to her.

But to her surprise, it was as she idly stood near the other Hufflepuffs in her class, her gloved hands stowed away in the deep pockets of her Hufflepuff robes, that they were met with a substitute teacher instead, Professor Grubbly-Plank.

That didn't seem to be surprising news to Draco and his friends, though. They were clearly laughing, and although she was too far to hear their conversation for the most part of the lesson, she caught enough of his chat with Harry and Ron to know that he was intentionally goading them, and not the way he sometimes teased her when they were working on their assignment together either. No, this was borderline bullying. Not that she'd ever dream of saying anything on the matter.

However, she didn't have long to dwell on it. This lesson, rather than being based around those exploding creatures as usual, was instead on unicorns. There was a unicorn tethered to a tree in the forest, which the girls in the class had been made to queue up in order to see and pet it while the boys were forced to stay behind. She'd never imagined unicorns to be sexist, but she was no expert on these things anyway.

The unicorn was obviously nervous though, she noticed. It would sort of hop between its hooves, and clearly flinched at each unwarranted pet or touch it received. Its reaction to Hannah was the worst, though — her roommate had almost gotten herself completely trampled by the poor thing.

Then it was Clara's turn. Everyone else had finished now, since she'd purposefully moved herself to the back of the line in the faint hope that there would be no time for her to see the unicorn close up. The class were now clearly impatient to leave, whether to warm themselves up or eat lunch. Clara stared at the snow by her feet.

"You can approach it, Miss . . .?" Grubbly-Plank prompted.

"Davies," Clara whispered.

"Miss. Davies." The professor took a step back. "Just be gentle and careful, unlike Miss. Abbott earlier."

She nodded and very slowly and apprehensively approached the creature. It was at this proximity that she was truly made aware of its pristinely white coat, and its shimmering, almost holographic eyes.

To her surprise, it didn't flinch at all, not when she moved to stand right up to it nor when she reached a hand up hesitantly. Instead, the unicorn leaned into her palm once she placed it against the side of its head and took a step closer.

Clara couldn't help but smile. This was why she preferred animals to humans. Well, except Blast-Ended Screwts, but she wasn't even sure if they counted. At least there were no social standards to meet, no expectations to either fulfil or fall far below.

Then she let herself return to the real world outside of the fantasy realm that was her head. She quickly lowered a hand to tug her scarf over her mouth so that her smile was concealed and awkwardly retreated from the unicorn. To her inward annoyance, Draco was watching and, judging by his expression, he'd caught her smile just in time.

Grubbly-Plank blinked. "Wow, Miss. Davies, you are quite the natural."

"Ah, Davies, we were looking all over for you!"

Clara had only just taken a single step out of the Great Hall with a single sausage roll in her hand wrapped in a napkin when she felt an arm loop around each of hers. She didn't even have the chance to say anything before the twins began to drag her out towards the snow-covered courtyard.

"So we were thinking about our efforts to get you to laugh," Fred began.

"And then we realised, isn't it possible that we've been going about this all the wrong way?" George explained. "Maybe jokes aren't your thing."

"But there's more to comedy than just jokes," Fred continued. By now they were outside, the courtyard area empty for the very simple reason that no one in their right mind willingly chooses to sit in the freezing snow during their lunch break. "That's why we, the Weasley twins, introduce to you . . ."

"Our stand-up show!" George finished. He fished through his pocket and pulled out a small piece of parchment. "We're still working on a name."

"Okay," she murmured, taking a small bite out of her sausage roll. She was made to sit on the edge of one of the shorter walls as they stood in front of her.

Fred nodded slowly in the silence that followed. "I see you're unimpressed, okay, but –"

"Can I please go inside?" she requested timidly. "I can't feel my fingers. I'm sorry."

Again, there was silence, the kind of silence that without fail would always make her rethink everything she'd ever said in her life. But that silence was quickly overcome by the victorious sound of the twins' high-five.

"I told you she talks, I told you!" George boasted, jabbing a finger in Fred's face. Clara watched this all quietly. "Who's the delusional one now, huh?"

"Y-You can forget I said anything," she stammered.

"Nah," He waved a hand dismissively, "don't worry about it. If we're being perfectly honest, we've only written a sentence so far anyway, and that sentence has a gap because we can't think of the name."

"But I do have a new joke for you!" Fred announced. He cleared his throat theatrically and began to read the joke he'd come up with from a piece of parchment. "Why do Slytherins love Herbology?" George created a drum roll effect by tapping his fingers against his leg. "Because it's in a greenhouse!"

"Oh . . . that's funny," she murmured.

Fred blinked at her. Then he proceeded to silently rip the parchment into 8 pieces, scatter them on the ground, and walk away.

And thanks to her not exactly comfortable lunch, Clara found it near impossible to warm up for the rest of the day. By the time she'd made it to Potions, her hands were still in her gloves, and her scarf was inside the pocket of her robes in case she got cold again.

"Early? Again?" Draco was the only one there, leaning back against the wall beside the classroom door with his arms crossed. "At least Snape will give you a break this time, I guess."

"He won't," she said quietly. "He'll find something else."

He shrugged. "You're probably right. I saw Snape a moment ago. He said we have a mock test today, and if a single one of us complains about having no time to revise, he'll fail us all."

"A . . . a test?" she repeated.

"Yeah, a test," he confirmed, slightly bemused at the worry in her tone. "It's not a big deal, so long as you don't fail. But you probably won't."

Clara could feel the panic beginning to bubble up in her chest. "Oh no. I'm going to fail. I'm going to fail –"

"Merlin, don't tell yourself that," he interjected with an eye roll. "Like I said, this test isn't important. If it was, Snape would've at least told the Slytherins in advance, and then I would've told you straight after."

She froze and looked up at him slowly. "You would?"

Draco shrugged nonchalantly. "It's not like I'd keep it a secret. Just, if I do some time, don't go blabbering to Potter or his band of loons. The last thing I need is more hassle from that attention-seeking git."

"I disagree. I don't think Harry seeks attention. From what I've observed during his interactions with his friends and with you, he only longs for the opposite –" Clara stopped herself. She almost bit down on her tongue in embarrassment, nearly drawing blood, as she looked away from Draco's gaze. "But I'm probably wrong," she muttered at the floor. "I'm sorry."

"You're so weird," she heard him whisper under his breath humouredly.

"I am?" she asked, her voice even quieter than usual if that was possible.

"See, this is what I meant. No one really cares that much if you join in on a conversation and have your own opinion," he told her. "Next time, don't apologise for saying anything unless it's an insult. And even then, don't apologise if it's funny."

Clara's eyebrows subtly furrowed together. "I thought that was an insult."

"What, disagreeing with me?" He scoffed. "Davies, I'm not a complete twat. If you want to hold your own opinion, what am I gonna do to stop you? It's not exactly an insult."

"But you don't agree," she clarified.

"Of course not. Saint Potter gets special treatment and attention too many times for it to be a mere coincidence," he said, a sneer to his tone.

She nodded. "You're right, I'm –"

"Don't be," he sighed. "You don't know the situation in the same way I do, so you have every right to disagree. As I said before, I'm not a complete twat."

"A lot of people think you are," she murmured softly. "I think it's because sometimes you would sort of, kind of, pick on people when we were in first and second year."

"Ahh." Draco sighed dramatically, as if reminiscing. "The good old days of performing Full Body-Bind Curses and Trip Jinxes on every weirdo in the corridor . . . Damn, that was funny. But shockingly enough I'm not an 11 year old anymore. Not that anyone gives a shit about that. I just let them believe whatever they want. But still, I'd do another hex like that on Longbottom any day."

"Neville? He's nice," she argued, before adding quickly, "I think. In my opinion."

He rolled his eyes. "Longbottom's a pea-brained freak," he commented.

"And I'm not?" she questioned.

"You're not that pea-brained," Draco reasoned, "and who said you're a freak?"

She shrugged sheepishly. "Just people. They used to whisper it to me whenever I walked down the hall. They don't do it much anymore though, so it doesn't matter."

"Davies," he started, but then paused for a moment. "Davies, actually look at me."

Clara's gaze lifted slowly, reluctantly. She absolutely hated prolonged eye contact, that inescapable feeling of a stranger's eyes boring into your own like lasers. Hate wasn't even a strong enough word to summarise her discomfort. Silver eyes met hers, and he didn't break the gaze even once as he spoke.

"As someone who decides on who's a freak and who's not, you're not a freak," he said with certainty. "A weird little badger, sure, but not a freak."

January 4th 1995

Dear diary,

I don't want to risk cursing my chances, but I think things here are slowly starting to regain some normalness. Aside from the fact that there are almost double the amount of people walking around the corridors, the last week has made it quite easy to forget that the Triwizard Tournament even exists.

"Seriously, what are you writing?"

Clara gasped in shock and gathered her diary to her chest. Hannah was sitting on the edge of her bed in her pyjamas, slowly petting Lilia.

"Just homework," she lied. "I'm really behind on Charms."

Hannah nodded sceptically. "Alright then. In that case, if you want to see my answers for reference, I really don't mind."

"Thank you," Clara whispered. Deciding to call it quits with her entry rather than risk anything, she slid the book away while Hannah was distracted and placed her quill aside. "I'm going to sleep."

"Oh, okay," Hannah said as she stood up again, "'Night then, Clara."

Clara moved Lilia into her lap once she'd climbed under the covers and put out the light in her bedside lamp. "Goodnight," she murmured.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

Author's note: Did I leave this story for months without updating? That's a secret I'll never tell ;)

Also, yes, I know this chapter was uneventful, but to be honest it was more of a filler than anything else anyway.

Anyway, thank you so much for reading, stay safe, and ily lots!