Chapter 3: Life is a Tale Told By an Idiot

Draco Malfoy was many things.

An arsehole at times, self-admittedly. Ambitious, cunning, and intelligent were some of his finer traits; the perfect personality for the ideal Slytherin, if he did say so himself. He was a fine dueler, resourceful and creative with his attacks, and he could be truly ruthless when he wanted to be.

But no one would ever describe him as a "kind" person. Or anything remotely close to that.

One of Draco's earliest memories that he could recall was a specific instance in which his father had asked him to visit him in one of the lush gardens outside of Malfoy Manor, his tone indiscernible as he invited his eight-year-old son out for an afternoon stroll. Draco had spent an hour in his wardrobe trying to make sure he looked presentable, his hands shaking with nerves as he smoothed out his expensive black slacks once he arrived outside.

They walked slowly and silently, father nor son making any attempt at conversation. Draco remembered feeling the weight of his mother's worried gaze looking out from the glass panes of the French doors, her mouth pressed into a firm line.

Lucius and his son sat down in the small sitting area, a murky grey pond that was once probably intended as decoration that only now added to the overall depressing feeling of Malfoy Manor. Draco distantly wondered how even a garden full of plants and flowers could seem so lifeless.

A rabbit, a small, brown little thing, hopped its way between a patch of white tulips, and the boy's eyes flickered over to the animal as its tiny nose twitched. He hadn't cooed at it, or even stared at it for very long. Draco was just a child and he hadn't meant to draw any attention to it, but he couldn't help but think it was such a peculiar sight- to see something so innocent and small caught in a garden that looked much more like a graveyard. Lucius's gaze followed his son's, and with a cruel sneer and a wave of his wand, the rabbit levitated in mid-air.

Draco remembered how the creature shook as it was suspended by magic, it's kicking legs and wide eyes panicked as if it knew it was ensnared by a predator.

"You see this little rabbit, Draco?" Lucius said flatly, gazing at the squirming animal. "My own father, your grandfather…he once told me that Mudbloods saw them as symbols of fertility. Of rebirth. And I thought, how strange for such a monstrous species… to find beauty in something so weak. Don't you agree?"

"Yes, father," Draco said quietly, flinching at his father's harsh tone. "Very strange."

He quickly schooled his features as a pair of cold, grey eyes wandered over to him. "Do you know what wizards like you and I, think of rabbits? Of these delicate, frail, helpless little creatures?"

He shook his head. "No, father." Lucius's eyes sharpened, and he flashed his son a disappointed glare.

"Draco, my son… we don't think of them. We don't think of them, because their existence is unimportant to us, to our kind. They are insignificant; another waste of space in a world that is already too crowded with creatures just as wild and dirty as them. One day you will realize… it's much more of an accomplishment to make prey out of a lion than out of something that won't even fight back," the man explained, the rabbit being hoisted higher into the air.

Draco swallowed.

"But one day you will also realize that even though rabbits are a waste of space, a waste of life itself, it's much easier to get rid of pests when you see them. Which they are, of course. Pests. Insolent little animals that are too soft, too weak, to survive in this world. So, it's best if you dispose of them quickly…it's merciful, Draco. This world cannot sustain the feeble, the wasted."

And with those final words, the rabbit's neck snapped.

A quick squeak turned into dead silence, and the rabbit was lowered to the ground. Draco remembered seeing tiny, black eyes glazed over from its cruel death, staring up at the sky blankly.

Lucius stood up and towered over his son, who was still sitting on another bench adjacent to his. The circles under his eyes were purple and bruised, and his long, white hair contrasted with the darkness in his expression. "You must never be weak, Draco. Malfoys are not weak. We do not associate with weakness; with creatures that are subservient to us. You are made of much stronger stuff, my boy. Snakes do not play with rabbits."

Draco had nodded, his face carefully devoid of emotion as he stared at his father. Once he headed back to his room, he vomited in a waste bin and snapped at one of the house elves to get rid of it before anyone else saw.

From that day on, Draco realized there was a natural order to things. Kindness was a fleeting and unnecessary act that attempted to be the great equalizer among all, but what was the point if some people were simply better than others? The blood running through his veins was cold and pure, and anything warmer, anything dirtier, was simply unacceptable. One could use the time and energy needed to be kind on something much more practical, like bending the world around you to your will.

What was the point in being anything other than the way he was raised to be? This is who he was. This was his fate.

Snakes did not play with rabbits.

Clara Diggory was not a rabbit.

The Hufflepuff girl, with her stupid, shiny, dark hair and her dumb smile and her atrocious taste in friends, was something much worse. Clara was a badger.

Draco blames his familiarity with the youngest Diggory on the fact that both siblings, with their dimples and kind eyes and hearty laughs, had made quite the impression on Hogwarts students in every house. It was frankly annoying, how eyes wandered over to the pair like they were walking, talking social magnets. It was infuriating, even.

Cedric Diggory, the oldest child, was a sixth-year prefect and the most talented player on the Hufflepuff Quidditch team, not that the competition was particularly steep among the yellow-clad imbeciles. He had a way of making the girls in any room fan their heated faces and bite their lips, and he didn't even appreciate it. Bloody hell, even Pansy of all peoplethought he was good looking, the very same Slytherin girl who thought practically everyone at Hogwarts was ugly. Pansy, who tossed around words like "fat" and "atrocious" to describe her peers like Halloween candy, suddenly went quiet and pink-faced when his name was brought up.

He had interacted with the older boy once and only once, but it was enough to make his insides shrivel as he thought about how he fell off of his broom on the pitch in a Hufflepuff vs. Slytherin scrum. It was humiliating, and his embarrassment was then worsened by the dark, wavy-haired Cedric Diggory in all his handsome, burly glory, who then decided to fly to the ground mid-game and extend a gloved hand out towards him.

"You alright, mate?" he had asked Draco, not a hint of condescension in his voice despite the easy smile on his face. "That looked like one nasty fall."

Draco seethed, his pale grey eyes searching a stormy grey ones for any sign of mirth, and saw none. He didn't understand what the duffer was doing, stopping mid-play to tend to the enemy. What kind of opportunity was he looking for? Cedric was alright well-liked by nearly anyone with eyes at the bloody school, what was he trying to prove? Why was he pretending that he cared whether or not Draco was okay?

Draco pushed the hand away, making a show of wiping at his robes as he rose to his feet on his own. The smile on Cedric's face flickered for a moment, but it was back before Draco had even registered it had dimmed. "Don't mock me, you spineless idiot," the blonde gritted out painfully. "Get back on your broom and stop being a fool so we can wipe the floor with you, like we always do."

Cedric's eyes looked at him with amusement, making Draco rile with even more self-righteous anger. "Well, you might want to go to Madam Pomfrey in a bit…only after you beat us, of course." He turned around with a grin and got back on his broom, soaring back into the air.

And what could he even say to that? Who would poke fun at their own loss?

A Hufflepuff trait, surely.

And if that wasn't annoying enough, when Draco did see Madam Pomfrey after the match, he couldn't help but hear a low, baritone voice he recognized all-too well asking the healer if Draco Malfoy from Slytherin had come to see her, and if he was okay.

Who in the bloody hell did that fool think he was?

When Draco later talked to one of his closest friends, Blaise, in the library about the incident with the hopes his generally suspicious housemate would agree with him, he was quickly disappointed.

"Those blasted badgers are just the sacrificial type," Blaise said without even looking up from the book in his large, dark hands. "You know what they always say: Gryffindors will die for you, Hufflepuffs will die with you, Slytherins will kill for you, and Ravenclaws will find a way so no one has to die at all. They are what they are, and we are what we are."

Needless to say, he didn't spend much time complaining about Cedric Diggory to anyone else.

Clara Diggory, on the other hand, was a separate issue entirely. Similar, but different.

It all began on that stupid first train ride on the Hogwarts Express three years ago. Draco had been sitting with Theo and Blaise, his fingers clenched tightly into the side of his robe as he glanced out the window nervously. Trying to downplay his anxiety by chattering mindlessly with his childhood friends, they inched closer to the castle that would become his home for the next seven years. He felt his stomach twist.

But Malfoys were never afraid, and so he wasn't. Not that it mattered if he was, because he'd never admit it regardless.

Draco didn't notice the disgusting little creature sitting between him and Theo until suddenly, a small girl with dark hair and light eyes practically threw herself in the middle of their little group. Lifting a toad, of all things, into her hands like it was the Quidditch Cup or something nearly as precious, she smiled broadly at a bushy-haired girl behind her. Her grin was slightly too wide and her eyes looked like a stupid little baby crup, and he was in shock that someone would have the nerve to completely disrupt a conversation in such a rude fashion.

Perhaps the most startling thing of all was the fact that when he snapped at the girl, she wasn't even phased. If anything, she looked confused, and much to his surprise…thanked him, with dimples deeper than canyons digging into her rosy cheeks. She smiled at him warmly, not a sign of malice anywhere on her expression, and Draco just couldn't understand why.

Why was she smiling at him? In all eleven years of his lonely little life, he…he didn't think he'd ever seen someone smile at him like that. Not even his mother, and he knew she loved him dearly.

Draco's curiosity was quelled later that evening after the Sorting Ceremony as he rolled his eyes at the grin on the girl's face as her eyes twinkled at the words that boomed around the Great Hall.

"HUFFLEPUFF!"

Of course she was a Hufflepuff. The lowest common denominator, the bottom of the totem pole. Father always said they were the least impressive sort, the "leftovers" Hogwarts merely had to take because they were wizards and witches, but not good enough for anything better. In some ways, Hufflepuffs were worse than mudbloods because many of them were pureblooded or something close to it, yet they wasted their purity by sympathizing with the enemy and fraternizing with the dirty-blooded. It was sad, really. He couldn't imagine getting placed into such an awful house, but the look on the girl's face looked like she couldn't have been any happier.

Hufflepuffs weren't meant to be understood by someone of his position, anyway. Too cowardly, too emotional… that's why her behavior on the train was confusing to him. Because she was a stupid little badger, and he was a snake. They were on opposite ends of the natural order.

And then it happened again.

This girl, who he now knew was named Clara based on the name that was announced during the ceremony, bumped into him rudely once more. Draco wondered if there was something wrong with her, perhaps she had been hit with a leg-locker curse and that's why she couldn't seem to walk without causing something short of total disaster.

Just as he had before, he snapped at her. Did she not know who she was bumping into? That he was Draco Malfoy, not just some dirty little rodent like that Weasley boy. There was an order to things. As a Hufflepuff, she should understand he was on the top, and she was on the bottom.

But instead, similar to her behavior on the train, Clara acted as if everything malicious spilling from his mouth was nothing more than casual small talk. She didn't even register his words, and instead congratulated him on being sorted into Slytherin. Draco stood there in disbelief, unable to comprehend how his sharp tone and angry words had been so clearly misinterpreted. They were not friends, they would never be friends, so there was no need to tell him to have a good night or that she'd see him in some of their shared classes.

There was no reason for it.

Draco Malfoy decided Clara was mad. On top of being a Hufflepuff, she was also clearly out of her mind, and if he could feel pity for someone in such a desperate position, he would have.

Yet, an odd feeling that made his chest feel strange wouldn't allow him to stop thinking about her.

"What in the fuck was that?!" Draco screamed, watching the two blathering morons in front of him look at him in confusion. Crabbe and Goyle looked completely panicked as they tried to point fingers and pin the blame on the other, their eyes wide and feet shifting nervously.

"Oh, c'mon, Malfoy. We thought it was funny."

"Yeah, we were just tryin' to rile her up. It was no big deal."

Draco felt his face heat with anger, his hands clenching by his sides as he looked at his lackies. Dumb as bricks, the both of them. "We don't… look at me, you dungbrains. We can say whatever we want. But we don't say shite like that, do you understand?!"

He didn't understand why he was so upset. He felt fury roaring through his veins and his heart beat faster; his mouth practically pooling with saliva as he felt ready to tear into Shithead One and Two. Maybe it was because he had never… no matter how much of an arsehole he was, Draco had never crossed that boundary. He was a pureblood, and purebloods were never so uncouth as to talk to a woman that way. To say something so suggestive was a sure sign of poor parentage. There were so many ways to humiliate a person without sounding like some common Muggle male.

Or maybe it was because Clara Diggory had come over to them in good faith and challenged both boys in the least confrontational way possible, a move he would have never credited towards someone who had been associated with the house of cowardice over the years. The blonde Hufflepuff girl she was always with, the Abbott girl from the high-society family… Henrietta or whatever her name was, looked like she was ready to completely flee.

But Clara had stared Crabbe and Goyle right in the eyes, her voice wavering and betraying her nerves, but unrelenting all the same.

Maybe it was because the way her face blanched caused something to sink into his stomach like a sour batch of butterbeer, an emotion he had seldom felt in his fourteen years of life and wasn't willing to put a name to.

Crabbe looked at him suspiciously, his eyes narrowed at the pale blonde. "What's it matter to you, anyway? She's just some Hufflepuff crackpot, it's not like she matters."

Draco bared his teeth at him, his pale, grey eyes meeting muddy brown ones. He was grateful he had a growth spurt over the summer, finally meeting Crabbe and Goyle eye to eye. "Are you bloody questioning me, Crabbe? You've got something you'd like to say to me?"

The protest in the larger boy's expression stayed only for a moment longer, before an embarrassed ruddy pink filled his cheeks and he shook his head. "Nah," he bit out. "Just wonderin', is all."

"Ask me something that bloody stupid again, you dunderhead. You and I both know who'll win that one," Draco gritted between his teeth, his face murderous with inexplicable rage. He turned to the other boy, watching a square jaw clench at his words. "Goyle? You've got anything you'd like to add?"

Goyle shook his head tentatively.

"Good. I'm only going to tell both of you tossers this once. You do as I say. If I say "no," you better listen. When you say shite like that, it looks bad on me, and if I look bad, I'll make sure you look worse. Pull that again, and I swear to Merlin himself you'll find snakes under your sheets every single night of fourth year. Got it?"

Both boys begrudgingly agreed.

With a quick wipe of his hands, Draco glared at both of them and left them to walk into his dormitory, feeling the weight of their shocked gazes on his back as he stalked into his room. He knew Crabbe and Goyle had the brain capacity of a couple of jellyfish, but it seemed like the older they got, the dumber they became.

The only sound in the dark room was the clicking of his expensive leather oxfords hitting the stone floor, his eyes still brimming with disgust. Theo sat up against his headboard, a book in hand as he looked at Draco with a blank expression. "That sounded fun," he said in a bored tone, turning a page with a smirk. "When do I get a turn to pin the tail on one of the two arses? I've been waiting so patiently."

"Shut up, Nott," Draco spat, his hands rummaging through his drawers for his night clothes. "Stupid cows, the both of them. Mouthing off like that."

"Ooh, what'd they say? Not that I care, obviously… I just like seeing you all pissy and scowling like this, Malfoy. It helps me sleep better at night," Theo said excitedly, his smirk widening as he waved his wand and sent his book back into the drawer of his nightstand.

"Made some bloody crass comments at… at that Diggory girl. It was foul, even for a couple of dim-witted gits," Draco explained, his voice forcefully even. "Like listening to a couple of low-class blokes in Knockturn Alley."

Theo sent him a knowing look, his eyebrow raised as his face morphed into something unamused. "Hm," he said dryly.

With his mouth pursed into a firm line, Draco flashed his eyes at the dark-haired boy, his lips curling into a sneer. "Oh, what is it, you prat?" he snapped. It was enough his own lackies had the nerve to question him, now one of his oldest friends was judging him? Clearly everyone around him had forgotten who they were so lucky to be friends with over this last summer, and Draco would have to remind them who he was.

"Nothing."

"Tell me. You obviously have something you'd like to get off of your mind."

Theo tilted his head at him, his eyes grim as he stared at his friend with a slightly smug look on his face. "Just didn't realize you'd care about some random Hufflepuff, Malfoy. Seems… beneath you."

Draco's face heated with anger once again, his shoulders stiffening as he slammed the dresser drawer closed with a quick door-closing charm. "I have standards, Nott. Maybe you should try having some of your own. You might even find yourself tolerable to other people if you did."

"Are you pissy because you have standards, or is it because Crabbe and Goyle embarrassed you in front of Diggory?" Theo asked him with a biting tone. "You're more obvious than you think, you know."

"Have you completely lost the plot, Theodore?!" Draco snarled out. "Calling me obvious, when you stare at Zabini's arse like it's a glass of water in a desert."

Theo's face flushed and he quickly glanced away, and Draco leered at him. "Don't get too cocky, Nott. I'd hate to tell your best friend some of the things I hear you say in the loo."

"You… You don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, Theo…don't I?"

Draco sent him one last huff, feeling satisfied he had proved his superiority once more before the evening was out. It was going to be a long fourth year, if his friends were proving to be this insolent. He crawled into his bed and slammed his head back into the goose-feather pillow, his eyes fluttering closed as he willed himself to dream about good things, like green apples and arithmancy class and getting an O on his first exam in the next few weeks.

He didn't think at all about what Theo said, or about how he didn't feel like he could deny it.

Draco loved potions.

Like his affinity for arithmancy, he loved the practicality and the straight- forwardness of being able to anticipate a precise result if he did everything correctly. Perfection might not be attainable, but this was as close as he'd ever get. The art of measuring and balancing and problem-solving in order to achieve what he desired. The opportunity to prove his intelligence and training to his peers by constantly excelling in his courses gave him a feeling of satisfaction he didn't know if he'd ever feel with anything else.

But fourth- year was already proving to be difficult, not only with his friends, but with his academics. Draco had a year before O.W.L.s and career matching, and he still felt at a complete loss as to what kind of future he wanted to pursue. His father wanted nothing more than for his son to get into politics the way the men in the Malfoy family had for generations, but deep inside, he could feel his lips curl at the prospect of cozying up to a bunch of corrupt arseholes every day.

Unfortunately, autonomy and choice were not familiar concepts to the Malfoy heirs. His father, grandfather, and every man before him had all entered the political arena with the goal of furthering the protection and traditions of the pure-blooded. His parents had set forth a very specific expectation of who Draco was to become, what he was intended to do as the inheritor of the Malfoy name and fortune.

Despite this, Draco had decided to take arithmancy and ancient runes anyway. He couldn't have been more thrilled at the challenge, and his father had even hired him a tutor over the summer to give him an advantage over the other students when he arrived at Hogwarts this term. But because of the timing of his classes, he was being forced to attend his least favorite class with his least favorite people.

Herbology. With Hufflepuffs.

Unlike potions, herbology was practically a foreign language to Draco. Nothing ever seemed to be exact or precise; it seemed as though you either had a talent for it or you didn't. As a person who rarely did less than "outstanding" in any course, this was incredibly frustrating because there were no guarantees he would do well in the plant-based class. It was all guesswork and intuition, neither of which were skills Draco possessed, and Professor Sprout definitely disliked Slytherins.

Perhaps not all Slytherins, but Sprout didn't like him, and it was enough for Draco to raise his nose at her and her stupid class and her stupid fungi. Luckily, he still had some time to mull over his impending doom over the weekend since he wouldn't have Herbology until Monday afternoon.

"What are you thinking about?" Pansy piped up next to him, her hand lightly waving a spoon covered in mashed potatoes in the air. Draco broke from his thoughts, blinking as he looked up at her. He realized he had barely even touched his dinner, his mind roaming to the new stresses fourth- year was presenting to him before it really even started. As Pansy spun the spoon around, a splat of mashed potato landed on the corner of his plate, much to his annoyance.

"I'm thinking about how ashamed your mother and father must be, knowing they raised a slob for a daughter," he gritted out, his eyes flickering to Pansy's mess. Pansy merely rolled her eyes and made a great deal of shoving the spoon in her mouth, licking it noisily as she gave him a piercing gaze. "Oh, come off it, Draco," she said with a whine. "Tell Mummy Pansy what's wrong."

Draco's face contorted into discomfort, the corner of his lip raising in disgust. "Don't ever refer to yourself as my mother in any fashion ever again, Parkinson. At most, you're more like the family dog."

"A cute one, I hope."

"No, just some old, grey-faced pug that's seen better days. Now mind your own business and finish your scraps."

Pansy's expression soured, but just before she was about to retort with something Draco already knew wouldn't be as clever as any witty remark of his own, Blaise cut them off with a hand fluttering towards them to catch their attention. "Will both of you shut up, already? Merlin. It's like listening to a couple of rats fighting over the last bite of cheese," he said with an exasperated sigh. Theo's mouth ticked upwards in a smile, and he lazily drank from his glass as he glanced at him with knowing eyes.

"I think Draco's a little… frustrated, wouldn't you say so, my friend?" Theo asked in a faux- concerned voice. "He just needs some good, old-fashioned love and attention, I'd say…but from who, I wonder? Perhaps- "

With a flash, Draco pressed his index finger against the glass of pumpkin juice next to his plate, spilling the orange liquid all over Theo who sat across the table. The dark- haired boy looked down at his soaked lap with horror, standing up abruptly as he glowered at the blonde, but Draco merely met him with a raised eyebrow and his infamous smirk. "What the fuck," Theo snapped, his hand reaching for a cloth napkin to dab at his wet robes. "This is poplin fabric, you berk."

"Oh, well. How unfortunate. An accident… you understand, surely?"

"You have such interesting timing, Malfoy, it's almost as if- "

"I have nothing to hide. But perhaps, you'd like to speak to Blaise…?"

Blaise and Pansy looked up at both angry boys with confusion, and Pansy cast a quick "Tergeo" spell to remove the growing stain from Theo's expensive, black finery. "What are you both going on about? And Draco, are you in need of some company? Because I can always- "

"None of your business, and no," he bit out. "Right Theo?"

The brunette nodded his head once, reluctant to dismiss the matter at hand as he sat back down with fiery eyes and an upturned nose. Letting out an undignified harrumph, he folded his arms across his chest and pushed his plate away from him.

Suddenly, Dumbledore got to his feet and looked around the Great Hall, seizing all of the mindless dinner chatter effectively as he looked out at his students.

"Well, now that we're all fed and settled in, I'd like to make an announcement," he boomed, the deep, crackling tenor of his voice echoing around the walls as students from every house turned to look up at him.

"Mr. Filch, our caretaker, would like for me to remind you all that the lists of objects forbidden inside has been extended to several new items. The full list can be viewed in his office. I would also like to remind you all that the forest outside of Hogwarts is out-of-bounds to all students, and Hogsmeade is only permitted for third- years and above."

"This is so boring," Pansy whined next to him, her hand flying up to curl around one of Draco's white-blonde locks as he slapped her fingers away. "Why do we have to sit through this? Why didn't they just cover this last night, at the Sorting Ceremony?"

"Can you please close your Venus Flytrap of a mouth, Pansy?" Draco whispered. "I'd rather listen to some raggedy old man than listen to you, right now."

"It is also my painful duty to inform you that the Inter-House Quidditch Cup will be suspended this year."

Groans and complaints of students erupted from all corners of the dining hall, and Dumbledore cut them all off with an even stare. Draco felt his heart sink into his stomach, his eyes sharpening into an infuriated glare as he looked at the old man at the podium. "This is due to an event that will be starting in October, and continuing throughout the school year, taking up much of the teachers' time and energy- but I am sure you will all enjoy it immensely. I have great pleasure in announcing that this year at Hogwarts-"

Suddenly, the headmaster was interrupted by the loud sound of the doors of the Great Hall being opened, and all of the attention once paid to him on the stage now flashed over to the source of the noise.

"Who the fuck is that?" Blaise asked bewilderedly. A man with a walking stick, a dirty brown coat, and long, gray, frizzy hair limped inside through the entrance. His face was in what seemed like a permanent scowl, and the lightning from the rainstorm outside cast a frightening shadow on his intimidating presence.

"What's wrong with his face?" Theo chimed in with a hushed voice.

Upon closer examination, Draco noticed his face looked weathered and worn, not unlike old leather. He had scars all over his skin, and most noticeably, an artificial eye strapped to his skull that wandered around the room crazily. He looked positively ghastly.

With a swig from a flask on the inside of his coat, the man walked over and took a seat in one of the empty chairs at the head professor's table. Without even casting a second glance to his silent audience, he started piling food onto a plate and the only sound in the hall was the scratching of his utensils against the plate in front of him.

"May I introduce our new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, Professor Moody!" Dumbledore announced proudly.

The room remained quiet, and if Draco wasn't so perturbed by the overall beastly appearance of someone who was apparently going to be his new instructor, he would have snickered. Dumbledore cleared his throat to regain focus, seemingly just as flabbergasted as everyone else.

"As I was saying," he said with a smile. "We are to have the honor of hosting a legendary event over the coming months, an event that has not been held in over a century. The Triwizard Tournament will be held at Hogwarts this year. The Triwizard Tournament was established hundreds of years ago, and brings together three schools for a series of magical contests. From each school, a single student is selected to compete. Now let me be clear: if chosen, you stand alone. And trust me when I say, these contests are not for the faint-hearted. The heads of Beauxbatons and Durmstrang will be arriving with their list of contenders in October, and three champions will be selected on Halloween."

Draco stiffened, his back straightening and his shoulders pushed back confidently as a smirk rose to his face. "A champion, hm?" he said under his breath. "They'd be stupid to pick anyone but me." Pansy looked over at him, a wry smirk twisting her features.

"Based on what? You're less-than- stellar track record at Quidditch, or your lack of fighting abilities, or- "

"Shut it, Pansy."

"I know all of you will be eager to participate in the Triwizard Cup to Hogwarts, and I have no doubt that all of you could," Dumbledore said carefully. "Eternal glory awaits the student who wins the tournament. However, this means the student must survive three extremely dangerous tasks. For this reason, the Ministry and the heads of participating schools have decided to impose an age restriction on contenders. Only students that are seventeen years or older will be allowed to put their names in for consideration."

And just like that, Draco's hopeful mood disappeared and instead, he was filled with withering anger brimming underneath the surface of his skin. The Quidditch Cup would be stolen from him, and now he wasn't even allowed to enter the stupid competition that took it away in the first place? What was he supposed to do all year, sit around and talk to the portraits in the hallway? Protests from the Weasley twins and other underaged students rose to a moderate volume across every table, and Draco felt satisfied that others in his year, including Harry fucking Potter, would all have to sit out.

If he couldn't participate, he didn't want anyone else to be able to, either.

Dumbledore stared at his furious students with a glower. "Silence!" he thundered out. The room was silent once again.

"We feel this is necessary, given that the tournament tasks will be difficult and dangerous despite precautions. The death toll has been insanely high for the past few successful Triwizard Cups, and we would like to do our very best to ensure the relative safety of all participants," he explained. With a wave of his wand, a golden tower next to him melted down into what appeared to be a large, golden chalice, and with another unspoken spell, blue flames erupted from the top of the cup.

"Anyone wishing to submit themselves into the tournament need only write their name upon a piece of parchment and throw it in the flame before this hour of next Thursday. If chosen… there is no turning back."

With a nod, he stepped away from the podium and took a seat back at the professor's tables, and the chatter amongst the students rose once again.

"Well that's a bit bloody unfair, isn't it?" Blaise grumbled, his fork scratching at his plate heatedly as Pansy pressed her hands over her ears at the sound. "Only seventeen and older. Blimey, I'm sure there's sixth and seventh- years who can barely spell their name. But I'm not allowed to put my name in?"

Theo nodded in agreement. "Why can't there just be a test, or something? I mean, how do they know I'm not ready for a tournament like that? Also, I wasn't aware seventh- years had a higher chance of survival. Seems a bit ageist to me."

Pansy shrugged uncaringly, her spoon still twirling in lazy circles above the table as her elbow dug into the wood. "I don't really care either way," she said blandly. "Who wants to risk everything for a stupid prize? Sorry, I value my life."

"What life?" Draco interrupted without even thinking, much to his own amusement and Pansy's frustration. She swatted at his shoulder with a sharp hit of her hand. "Don't get pissy with me because the old man made poor wittle Draco all sad," she bit out, her voice taking on a babyish- tone as she looked at his pale, grey eyes.

"It's not like I care about the bloody prize," he retorted. "But I might as well get to throw in my hand if they're going to take away the entire Quidditch Cup. How unfair is that? We just have to…sit and watch a bunch of seventh-year buffoons fight it out while I spend my time with what, exactly?"

Theo looked at him with a wolfish grin, his eyes narrowing as he leaned over the table. "Oh, I'm sure you'll find someone… I mean, something, to fill the time with." Blaise rose a curious eyebrow.

"And I'm sure you'll find someone to fill you, arsehole."

Theo's face flushed embarrassedly, and Draco felt his heckles calm at the sight of another successful verbal battle. He really didn't understand why people even tried to argue with him anymore.

Didn't they know he'd always win?

"Boys, let's keep the testosterone to a minimum. I'm still trying to digest my food," Pansy complained as she picked up her glass, swirling the cold pumpkin juice around like it was a fine Merlot. "Look, let's just forget about this tournament shite and feel bad for whichever poor bloke gets picked."

"Why would I feel bad?" Draco questioned. "Whoever gets chosen is going to be a literal legend."

"Because, Draco. Dying in something as dumb as some tournament in a half-arsed attempt to prove yourself seems like an awfully tragic way to go. I mean, really. Getting killed at seventeen? What a waste of a life."

And with that, their little group headed out of the Great Hall and to the Slytherin dorms to turn in for the night. Draco wasn't much in the mood for talking, his mind roaming elsewhere as Blaise and Theo flirted far-too obviously for his taste and Pansy rambled on about the new DADA professor. He couldn't even bring himself to care about the conversation, and as he yawned and thought about his upcoming classes in the next week, his eyes flickered to something at the corner of his eye.

Two shadows, ducked behind a corner on the way out of the main exit to the dorms. One was much taller than the other, and even though the noise of students chit-chatting was too loud for him to hear what they were saying, Draco was still intrigued.

With a curious furrowing of his eyebrows, he glanced over as nonchalantly as he could. Draco was nosy, but not a complete idiot, and he definitely didn't want to call any unnecessary attention to himself.

A girl with long, brown-black hair with her arms crossed over her chest, and a boy whose skin and hair were just as pale and dark as hers, stood closely as they spoke in hushed tones. The boy looked determined; his shoulders set in something defiant as the girl leaned into him almost pleadingly.

Cedric and Clara Diggory. What an interesting coincidence.

An interesting coincidence, indeed.

With wide-eyes and a sense of renewed intrigue, Draco distanced himself from his friends as he walked over to the wall. Neither sibling could see him around the corner, and he bent down as if he was tying his shoe. He realized he looked suspicious to anyone who looked at him too closely since an untied shoelace could be easily fixed with a quick, elementary-level charm, but he hoped that his retreat into the shadows cast by the torch above him was able to hide him just enough to keep prying eyes away from him.

Leaning in as closely as possible, he tried to pick up on the conversation.

"…died, Cedric, do you understand…"

"…I think I could really win, Clara…"

"…dangerous, what if…"

"Nothing's going to… you support me? I need…"

"You complete and total idiot."

The voice startled him from his crouch, and Draco immediately launched up onto his feet.

Theo stood across him, a knowing smirk on his face. "I saw you. Had to make sure you wouldn't get caught, you prat."

"Shut the fuck up," Draco spat out quietly. "I was just tying my shoe."

"Mhmm."

"I don't owe you any explanation, Theodore."

"Sure, sure."

Draco was about to whip out an insult, but the shadows from his peripheral vision cleared away and both Diggory siblings walked out from their hideout around the corner. Cedric was still staring at his sister, whose face had morphed into an expression Draco didn't think quite fit her face. Both duos nearly bumped into each other as Draco and Theo tried to retreat as quickly as possible, and Cedric looked up at them in alarm. "Oh, sorry," the handsome, dark-haired boy apologetically with red cheeks and an embarrassed smile. "Have a good night, mate."

Mate, Draco thought mockingly to himself. Wouldn't be calling me that if you knew I was trying to listen in on your conversation, would you?

Theo saw the notorious Malfoy scowl appear on his friend's face, and immediately stepped in. "No worries, yeah?" he said casually, his eyes never leaving Draco's. "You have a nice night, too."

Theodore Nott had always had that cunning, slick Slytherin charm, but even Draco could tell he was laying it on pretty thick. With a nod and a slight grin, he grabbed Draco's shoulder and started pulling him away, his grasp unrelenting as they took off towards the Slytherin dormitories.

That night, as Draco rolled around in his silk sheets and stared up at the ceiling high above him, he found himself replaying the conversation over and over again in the hopes he'd see something he didn't see before. Some kind of information to quell his inner curiosity as he wondered what the Diggory siblings needed to talk about so urgently that they needed to speak in the dark shadows of one of the walls outside the Great Hall.

But somehow, he found himself distracted.

Because all he could think of was Clara Diggory's unusually pale, stricken expression as they parted ways.

A/N: I am really happy with this Draco POV chapter! Please leave a comment and let me know what you guys think!

Love always,

Fairylight2003