Chapter 7: Those Who Rush Stumble and Fall

Draco had a piano once.

It wasn't unusual for a child of his breeding to learn an instrument- it was all within what Pansy sarcastically called the "Pureblood Package," otherwise known as the private tutoring, the stuffy clothes made of fabric just uncomfortable enough that a child could hardly move enough to play; it was the French lessons and riding Abraxan Winged Horses and perfectly coiffed hair and learning to be silent and out of the way.

It would take years before Draco learned how to be quiet, before he learned how to sit and observe silently, before he learned that secrets were a form of currency. But as a child without much better to do, he had become quite good at playing piano.

Looking back, he couldn't remember if the piano had always been in Malfoy Manor or if his parents had bought it specifically for him, but he could barely remember a time before the grand piano sat in the music room of Malfoy Manor. As soon as he could walk and talk, he would be sat on a too-high bench with his feet dangling, his tiny fingers stretched out over ebony and ivory keys. Occasionally, his mother would ask him to play for their guests, and he begrudgingly played the same boring pieces every time.

His piano instructor, a half-blood his father only hired because he was considered one of the best teachers in the wizard world, was a strict but tender-hearted man who ignored Draco's whines and big, watery eyes, and forced him to learn all of the wizard classics. Composers like Porpington, Oswald, Goosander and Colibiri had become the bane of Draco's existence- every piece felt flavorless and stiff and unwavering.

"I don't like any of these pieces," eleven-year old Draco complained, his bottom lip jutted out in protest as he crossed his arms across his chest. "They're boring."

"Not boring," his instructor told him. "You're just too young to appreciate their genius. One day, you will and you'll thank me."

"Not likely. I want to learn something else. Something better."

The instructor let out a sigh and with a cautious, conspiratorial look, his eyes scanned around the large music room for any voyeuristic house elves or family members. Seeing none, he craned his neck down to look Draco in the eye. "Well," he started quietly, swallowing down the sense of danger. "I do happen to know a few pieces that might be to your liking. They're a bit more…fun, perhaps."

Draco nodded excitedly, relief flooding his senses as he looked over at his instructor curiously. "Yes! Can we?"

The instructor waved away Draco's hands from the keys, and began playing an expressive, vivid piece the boy had never heard anything like before. The beginning started off as a quiet, staccato piece that crescendoed into something warm and sweet, and something about the music made Draco think of wintertime even though the weather had just started to turn crisp outside and the winter season was months away.

The grey-haired man finished the piece, and Draco urgently tugged on his arm. "What was that?" he exclaimed. "I want to learn it. You must teach me, you must!"

"It's called "Dance of the Sugar Plum Fairy," and it's from a ballet. I'm glad to see you enjoyed it, I thought you might."

"There's no such thing as sugar plum fairies," Draco said incredulously. He'd never heard of such a thing- his mother had used Fairies as Christmas lights for their tree, and his father found them quite annoying. His instructor smiled and looked down at his lap.

"Well, no…but you need to use your imagination. That's what the ballet is all about. Do you want to know what happens in the play? You musn't tell anyone about it, you know. It's a secret," the instructor teased, his eyes stern.

"Yes!"

The instructor cracked his fingers, and played the same piece over again, but much more softly. "Well, the ballet is about a little girl named Clara who receives a toy nutcracker… it's a little toy that looks like a soldier that cracks walnuts and chesnuts and the like. None of the other children like the toy nutcracker, but Clara does. But her big brother breaks it, and the little girl is heartbroken. However... when she goes to sleep at night, the nutcracker comes alive. She's the only one who can see him."

"And then what?" Draco asked him.

"What do you mean?"

"What happens after it comes alive?"

"Well, in one version, the nutcracker fights in a war against an evil mouse king, but Clara saves him because he's still wounded, you see. The nutcracker turns into a handsome Prince, and then they travel to the Land of Sweets, a magical, beautiful place run by Sugar Plum Fairies."

"And the other version?"

The instructor smiled at him, and replayed the piece again, even softer and slower than before. "Well, in the other version, the nutcracker is about to be taken prisoner by the mouse king. Clara saves him, but she is hurt very badly, and the mouse king tells her that he will break the nutcracker into pieces unless she gives the king everything she has. Clara makes the sacrifice to the mouse king because she loves the nutcracker very much."

Draco sat quietly, his fingers grazing over the piano keys. "And then they fall in love?"

"Yes," the instructor replied. "And because Clara loved him so much, the curse on the nutcracker was broken, and he turned into a prince. Then, they lived happily ever after."

A few days later, Draco played the piece for his parents, and accidentally told his father about the sugar plum fairies and the story about a little girl named Clara, who fell in love with a broken doll no one else liked, and he never saw his instructor again after that.

The piano disappeared just as quickly.

And as Draco sat in the music room at Hogwarts, not for the first time while his godfather loomed in the doorway and listened, he liked to think that playing the piano was no longer about playing boring songs by even more boring composers. He played what he wanted, when he wanted, as loudly as he wanted, and there was nothing about the way his long fingers touched the keys that aligned with anything remotely close to the Pureblood Package.

In the colorless, drab, pureblood world he lived in, Draco's choice to play the piano secretly and quietly had become his own idea of a revolutionary act.

Draco tapped his foot impatiently, his hand curled around his silver pocket watch as the oil lamp in front of him cast eerie shadows around the greenhouse.

Clara Diggory was running late. Was he shocked?

Frankly, yes.

She was usually at least fifteen minutes early no matter where she was going, whether it was to class or to the Great Hall or her brother's Quidditch games. Not that Draco ever watched her coming and going, he was just a keen observer who happened to notice things like that.

His jaw ticked as another minute went by, the stupid Bubotuber plant sitting in front of him as a mocking symbol of all the time he was wasting.

"Sorry!" Clara's voice rang out from two glass doors fenced in by long vines of ivy. Her robes flew out from behind her, her yellow and black tie askew as a stray lock of dark hair lay in front of her face. Her hands were full of something Draco couldn't make out from the dark shadows of the humid, muggy greenhouse. "Sorry, sorry! I didn't mean to run late, I lost track of time at dinner, and then I had to pick these up from the Hufflepuff kitchen since I forgot them... and then Cedric wanted to know where I was going so I told him, then he insisted on walking me here since he said it was getting dark and- "

"It's fine," Draco interrupted. "Let's get this over with already." He couldn't help but notice her hair was still tied in a braid, and smirked internally.

As she bounded up to him, the smile wavered on her face and something more wary took its place. A smile that didn't quite reach her eyes as she thrust forward something wrapped in cloth and baker's twine. "Here!" she said as she pushed it into his arms.

Draco eyed the item suspiciously, his eyes flickering from the off-white baking linen to a pair of wide, slate-grey eyes. Clara stood in front of him with her hands clasped together under her chin. "What is this?"

"Unwrap it and look."

"What? No."

Clara frowned, looking particularly put out by his answer. "Oh, come on," she urged as Draco set the strange item on the table, his mouth screwed up tightly. "Just… just look in it. I promise it's not going to bite you."

With an exasperated sigh that slowly evolved into an irritated huff, he pushed the object away from him as he started to pull dragonhide gloves over his hands. Ridiculous, he thought to himself. I'm not wasting anymore time.

With a petulant roll of her eyes, she pulled the package by the baker's twine over to her and unwrapped it. Underneath the cloth lay a plate of fluffy, round disks with brown spots. Draco's mouth might have watered, but he wasn't sure.

"Chocolate chip cookies," Clara told him proudly. "I thought… I just thought it would make this Bubotuber business a little more bearable. I know you have a sweet tooth."

"No I don't."

"Yes you do," she said with a light grin. "Someone always owl's you sweets at breakfast. Obviously you like them, if someone keeps sending them to you."

Draco frowned, his eyes narrowing at her. "What are you, stalking me?" he asked suspiciously. Clara's face turned rosy in the dim lighting, her jaw dropping in embarrassment. "No!" she protested. "It's…it's hard not to notice something like that, I mean… you get owl's all the time, more than anyone, really… anyway. I wasn't sure what you liked, of course, but I figured chocolate chip wasn't a bad way to go, my mum always says everyone likes chocolate chip… so- "

"Diggory," Draco bit out, effectively interrupting her from her ramble. "Why would I want to eat anything, when I'm literally about to squeeze the most vile substance I've ever seen out of this stupid fucking plant?"

Clara's face fell, and she seemed to flounder as she racked her brain for an answer. "Well... you could always save them for later," she replied quietly.

"Not interested."

A silence fell between them, and Draco hurriedly began to prepare the Bubotuber in front of him. Forming his fingers into pinchers, he squeezed at one of the warts on the wretched plant as he averted his gaze from Clara's. An uneasy feeling made its way into his gut as he watched the dark-haired girl frown next to him; a strange, churning of something sour festered in the lower pit of his stomach.

They resumed their work quietly, the scratching of their tools and the clinking of glass bottles were the only sounds echoing throughout the greenhouse. Clara worked as diligently and successfully as she had earlier in the day, however Draco noticed there was a hesitance to her movements as she squeezed pus from the Bubotuber into bottles. It was as if he was a wild animal; she hesitated before reaching into their shared space for supplies like she was afraid he'd bite her hand off.

The uneasy feeling grew. And so did his frustration.

"Merlin," Draco snapped for what felt like the millionth time in the last hour. The pus had exploded all over his workstation, a stark difference from Clara's clean one as she careful pinched the Bubotuber and effortlessly transferred the pus into the medicine bottles. His fingertips ached from his efforts, and he felt half-tempted to get up and leave without another word. He had made embarrassingly little progress, and between the aggravation of his task, his anger that he was being bested by a Hufflepuff, of all people, and that sickly feeling in his stomach, he could feel his face heat furiously.

"Just ask," Clara said quietly, her eyes looking down at the table and her expression unreadable. Draco stared at her, his hands stilling as he prepared to extract the pus for the umpteenth time.

"What?"

"Ask," she repeated in the same even tone. "You said if you needed my help, you'd ask for it. So just ask me."

"I don't need your bloody help."

Clara huffed. "I have eyes. You're struggling. Let me help you."

Draco hesitated and made the mistake of glancing up, and felt his face flush as he was met with a pair of earnest eyes. No sign of malice or impatience, she wasn't mocking his lack of talent. She had made a clear offer, and he would be stupid to turn it down considering he'd be there all night if he continued at his pace.

"Fine...you can help," he grumbled begrudgingly, pushing the plant over to her. Clara's eyebrows raised in surprise before she quickly schooled her features, and she pushed the plant back over to him slowly. Draco let out an angry breath, his hands curled at his sides. "You just said you'd help me!"

She gave him another patient look, and he suddenly felt like a scolded child as seconds ticked on and she stood silently. Letting a slow breath out through his nose in an attempt to calm himself, he looked back at her with a noticeable set to his jaw. "Will you… please… help me," he said between clenched teeth, every word sounding like he had been forced to ask against his will.

In seconds, Clara's indecipherable expression morphed into a lighter one, and she took a step closer to him. "Why, of course Draco, I'd be delighted to."

His eye twitched.

"But I'm not doing it for you," she told him seriously, sounding every bit the star student and unfortunately for him, a bit like Granger. "This is a joint project, which means we both do our work together. That requires both of us to do it."

Throwing his hands up in the air, Draco looked over at her with an exasperated expression. "Well then, you're not helping me at all, are you!"

"Doing the project for you is not helping. You wouldn't be learning anything if I took over for the both of us."

"Oh, like that bloody matters. It's fucking Herbology, for Godrick's sake, not N.E.W.T. level potions. I don't even give a shite about this stupid class."

Clara rubbed at her temples and shakily exhaled, her eyes closed as her mouth twisted into something tight and pained. "Could you… could you please calm down? Why don't you have a cookie?"

"I don't want a cookie!" he snapped. "I want to get this over with!"

"And we will," she assured quietly, taking a step closer and extending the pair of extractors he had thrown onto the table back towards him. "Look, I'll lead by example, alright? And then you can do it, and then you'll do it after me. Hasn't anyone ever done that for you before? Surely, someone has."

Draco's thoughts immediately flashed to his half-blood piano instructor from all of those years ago; long, gnarled fingers spread across keys slowly and patiently in an effort to show the pureblooded little brat that he was how to play songs like "The Goblin of Godric's Hollow" and "Salazar's Suite." A sort of melancholy sorrow followed this memory- it had been so long since anyone had shown Draco how to do anything one-on-one in years, so long since anyone had offered to help him.

He blinked as he cleared his thoughts and looked back up at his partner, who looked at him with a contemplative expression as her head tilted slightly to the side. His cheeks reddened at the awkward silence and he took the extractors from her hands, averting his gaze. "Fine," he grumbled. "I hate this stupid plant."

"Yeah, I can see that," Clara grinned, taking her own pair of extractors and holding them up playfully. "So here's what you have to do…"

By the time both Clara and Draco decided to finish up for the day, Draco had made a substantial amount of progress in comparison to where he was before while still having far more to do. Despite the swiftness in the Hufflepuff's transfers from plant to bottle, Draco's hands moved much more clumsily behind the thick material of the dragonhide gloves, and he had moved at an incremental pace in order to satisfy the requirements of their task.

Clara volunteered to clean up as Draco put their plants on a table with the rest of their class's Bubotubers, her wand moving lazily as she scourgified their workstation and put their gloves away in the gardening cupboard. "See?" she said with a smile, wiping her hands in satisfaction as she assessed the rest of the greenhouse. "Not that bad, right?"

"We didn't even finish," Draco replied lowly, his foot kicking at a stray rock on the wooden plank floor. "I never want to see another bloody Bubotuber again."

Clara laughed. Well, that's unfortunate," she said, her voice remaining as annoyingly optimistic as it had throughout the last few hours. "Because we'll have to do this all again tomorrow!"

"Hooray."

"Oh, cheer up," Clara insisted. "Don't forget about your cookies, by the way. I'll try to bring something else tomorrow." She pulled the greenhouse door open for the both of them, and Draco rolled his eyes at her as he stormed out. "I've already told you, I don't want- "

As he walked outside, he was surprised to see the familiar face of a tall, dark-haired boy with an infamously chiseled jaw Pansy had wooed about far too many times for comfort. He smiled broadly, his eyes bright as Clara bounded up to him and playfully poked him in the face.

The words died quickly in his mouth as Draco looked up at the much taller, broader, more muscular Cedric Diggory batting his little sister's hands away. "Go away," Cedric told Clara with a laugh. "Your hands smell like an open flame."

"It's from the Buboubers!" she whined petulantly. "My hands smelled like chocolate chip cookies before I got here."

"Chocolate chip cookies?" Cedric asked with wide eyes. "Did you- "

"No," his sister interrupted. "For fourth-year Herbology buddies only."

Draco felt his stomach twist at her words, and Clara back at him with a small smile and rosy cheeks. Cedric groaned and closed his eyes in disappointment, his face twisted sadly. "Are you serious? You didn't save any for me?" he mourned.

"No! Stop complaining, Merlin, I can make them for you another time."

"But why not this time?"

"Because they weren't for you!"

Draco stayed completely silent as the siblings bickered, unsure of how to make a hasty exit seeing as they were heading in the same direction. Cedric looked over at the wrapped package of cookies in his hands longingly, and feeling more than a little uncomfortable, he held it up to the older boy with the hopes that Clara's brother would take it off his hands.

Clara's eyes flashed as she followed her brother's sad gaze, and she pushed the cookies back into Draco's chest. "No," she said slowly. "Those belong to you. Cedric, stop staring!"

"Did you use Mum's recipe?"

"..."

"Oh, come on!"

"Stop embarrassing me!" she huffed. Why is he even here, exactly? Draco thought to himself, trying to block out the conversation since it clearly did not involve him.

As if she could sense Draco's confusion, she pointed at a yellow and black badge with a silver letter "P." "Sorry, I should have said something earlier. Ced's taking me...or I guess, both of us, back since he's on-duty and didn't want us walking all alone in the dark."

"All the more reason you should have saved me some cookies," Cedric mumbled to himself. Clara narrowed her eyes at him, and just as she opened her mouth, Draco interrupted her. "I can walk back by myself," he said haughtily. "I'm not afraid of the dark."

Cedric bit out a laugh. "Well, that makes one of you." Clara immediately slapped him in the arm, and their squabbling resumed as they walked up the hill and across the lawns.

Luckily, it was a short enough walk, and Draco sighed in relief as they parted ways and he practically flew to the Slytherin dormitories in an effort to get away from the Diggory siblings. Waving him off with a goodbye he didn't bother to return, he smoothed his robes with his hands as he approached the door to his shared room, trying not look nearly as disheveled as he felt.

As his features schooled from irritated confusion to something carefully passive, his mouth immediately contorted into an annoyed frown as he saw two large goons waiting outside of his room and another smaller and only slightly more tolerable idiot staring them both down. A deep exhale whistled out of him as he rolled his eyes, and Draco shoved his hands in his robe pockets.

Crabbe and Goyle looked at him with a mixture of relief and bewilderment, and both boys faced away from a very upset Theo as they eyed their leader. "Oh good," Theo said in a flat voice. "You're finally here. Now, can you please ask these parasites to lick your boots elsewhere? I can hardly sleep with the sound of ape-like breathing outside the door."

"Shut up, poofter. Nobody was talking to you," Crabbe growled out, his arms crossed across his chest. Theo raised an amused eyebrow, his mouth lifting into a twisted smirk as he cocked his head. "I'm impressed, Vincent… I didn't think you knew that many words in the English language."

"I know plenty of words I can call you, you fa-"

"All of you, shut up," Draco snapped. "What are both of you doing here?"

"Where've you been? We've been looking for you everywhere," Goyle questioned, looking at Draco as his face scrunched up in puzzlement. "Yeah, you wasn't anywhere you usually go… we checked," Crabbe added.

"None of your bloody business," he bit out in reply. "Now, if you don't mind, I'd like to go to bed. I've had an abnormally long day."

"Doing what?"

"Where?"

Draco blinked. "Are you deaf? He asked incredulously, appalled at their badgering. "What is this, the Spanish fucking Inquisition? For Godrick's sake, go to your dormitory. I'm alive and well, thank you very much for your concern."

Theo hummed contentedly as both of Draco's minions sent the blonde one last suspicious glance and started on their way back to their room, their heavy footsteps pounding against the stone floor as they walked away. With dark, narrowed eyes, he looked over at his friend wearing the same twisted smirk, his back leaning against the wall casually. "You keep such good company, Malfoy," he said sardonically.

Draco huffed. "I keep you around, don't I?"

"I suppose so. I understand the whole "I-need-minions-to-consolidate-my-power" thing you've got going on, but please spare me from Frick and Frack, if you can. It takes forever to get rid of the smell."

"I'll keep your suggestion in mind."

"Speaking of terrible odors and company," Theo said salaciously, following Draco inside their dormitory lazily as the other boy shrugged off his robes, set down the package of cookies, and started towards his wardrobe. "I can't help but notice that you smell an awful lot like our Herbology assignment. And what's that there, on the bed? Are those… a pastry, of sorts?"

Draco stomped his foot and whipped around to face Theo, who was now collapsed in the throws of his bed. "So you know something about all this, then," he said between clenched teeth. "Piss off."

"Oh come on," Theo whined. "Be a good mate and share whatever Diggory brought you. I'll tell you everything Abbott and I talked about in class today if you do."

"Who?" Draco replied nonchalantly.

"Don't be daft, Draco," the dark-haired boy sing-songed. "As if I haven't seen you sitting up there, perched in that tree, watching Diggory and her gaggle of little girlfriends discuss flowers and sunshine and whatever else Hufflepuffs chatter on about."

Unfortunately, Draco didn't have a clever retort to that, and instead he stared at the wooden drawers of his wardrobe as he floundered for words. A sick feeling churned in his stomach and he rummaged through a drawer, simply for something to busy his hands with. "Anyway, give 'em here. I'll even try not to laugh as I divulge my precious information."

"And who says I give a shite about anything you have to say?" Draco grit out, trying to sound as neutral as possible.

"Because you do and you will. Especially since I know for a fact that everything I'm about to say comes straight from the source. I mean, there's really no reason for Abbott to lie, since she's still quite terrified of me for some reason."

Slamming the drawer shut angrily, Draco craned his neck over his shoulder and with a flick of his wand, the package of cookies made its way over to Theo's bed. In a flurry of excitement, the boy tore open the cloth and twine. He shoved his hand inside and immediately stuffed his mouth with a chocolate chip cookie, and a satisfied moan escaped his throat as his eyes rolled backwards. "Morgana's left tit," he said in surprise. "That's bloody good. Maybe Hufflepuffs are good for something."

"Continue, please," Draco seethed. "I'm waiting."

Theo grinned widely, his lip jutting out in a mock pout. "I thought you said you didn't care."

"Theodore!"

"Alright, alright, don't get your knickers in a twist," Theo said as a trail of crumbs fell from his lips, his hands already reaching for seconds as he flopped back on his pillows. "Abbott and I had much discussion about one Clara Diggory."

"And was she suspicious as to why?"

"Goodness, no. I'm a master manipulator, Draco, please give me some credit."

Draco nodded as he cleansed himself with cleaning charms, his nightwear laying on his bed as he stripped off his tie and shirt. "So apparently, they've been up each other's arses since first year, blah, blah, blah… Diggory's obviously a very good baker, her and Abbott are both the top girls in their year for their house…"

"I thought you said you acquired information? This is just observations and public knowledge, you prat," Draco exclaimed. Theo held his hands up in defense. "Patience, patience! I'm trying to remember everything. She talks a lot once you get her going; lots of stuff to weed out."

"Get on without all these boring details, already!"

"Well… we got to talking about Quidditch, you know, a safe subject. Abbott's a fan but she doesn't play, but Diggory really doesn't care for it. Kind of strange, isn't it? Since Cedric is, like, arguably the best player in all of Hogwarts."

Draco's eyebrows scrunched together, and he failed to see how any of this information was significant. It didn't really satisfy any of his deep-seated curiosities about the girl, and nonsense about Quidditch really wasn't what he was looking for. He was less than impressed with Theo's investigative abilities, to say the least.

"And she's pretty bloody awful at it, too. No idea how the game works, can't play for shite, that sort of thing."

"Abbott said that?" Draco asked, surprised that such harsh words would leave the mouth of what he assumed was a rather quiet, studious girl. Theo barked a laugh and shook his head. "I'm trying to de-Hufflepuff-ify it. "Not her strong suit" was what she actually said, which is what I assume is Hufflepuff-speak for absolutely terrible."

"Hm."

"Somehow we got to talking about the World Cup, since we were on the topic of Quidditch and all. Cedric and their father, they went, you know."

Even the mere reference to the event made Draco feel sick inside- what had begun as one of the most exciting days of the year had ended in the crushing disappointment that his father had not, in fact, turned over a new leaf and decided to invest himself in his son's interests. As he should have expected, and as he should have known, Lucius Malfoy rarely did anything without some kind of underlying scheme rationalizing his decisions. His father had not taken Draco to see the Quidditch World Cup.

He had taken his son to an open slaughter, he had taken him to see what it felt like to see real fear.

Draco didn't sleep well that night. Or the night after that…or the night after that.

Sometimes, the screams of the crowd reverberated through his skull like a punishment. He wondered deep down if they were really father and son at all, despite their similarity in physical appearance. Because he could still feel the constricting of his throat as bile threatened to climb up his esophagus, he could still feel the way all the blood left his face as he heard the terrified sobs of small children whose hands had slipped from their parents' in the chaos of the attack, the smell of fire filling his senses. Lucius Malfoy had grinned at the madness he helped create, while his weak, pathetic excuse of a son nearly lost his dinner in a nearby bush.

Truthfully, he couldn't remember if he'd seen the Diggorys at the World Cup, and he didn't feel like revisiting his memories of that night if he could help it.

"Well, they were there supporting Ireland. Not very surprising, I mean, who the hell was going to support Bulgaria? Besides Krum, the entire team is atrocious…but anyway, Abbott said Diggory's dad used to be on the Hufflepuff team here, too. A seeker, just like Cedric, she said, and helped Hufflepuff win the Inter-house Cup one of the only times in the last century," Theo explained, his voice trying to hint at something Draco couldn't understand.

"None of this is remotely interesting, Theo."

"Well, I figured if you wanted to continue your stalking routine, that'd give you some information to go on. Also, Diggory's mum? She's Irish, and I couldn't exactly tell, but I think their dad is pureblooded, so your little crush might be, too. Which is good news, I'm assuming."

Draco flushed bright red and felt his jaw tick at Theo's implication, and he glared at him from across the room. "Shut the fuck up," he snapped. "I do not have a crush, and I would mind the way you speak to me if I were you."

"We've already been over this, Draco. Your lies need a lot of work."

With a roll of his eyes, he leaned over to blow out the candle on his nightstand to get ready for bed, but Theo's voice stopped him abruptly in his steps. "Oh, and one more thing," Theo said giddily. "She's apparently quite optimistic about your partnership. Nothing but good things to say about you when anyone asks, that sort of thing. So maybe pull the stick out of your arse and be a little bit less of a dick when you're working with her. I might have mentioned something about your knack for sweets."

Remaining silent, Draco blew out the candle and after quickly changing into his nightclothes, he climbed into his bed and stared up at the ceiling as Blaise and Marcus returned from the common room to settle in for the night.

The only sounds in the room were the soft huffs of Theo's breathing and the scraping of paper as Blaise turned the pages of a book he was reading. For some reason, the stillness in the atmosphere clawed at Draco's nerves, and he found himself tossing and turning once again.

His thoughts roamed over to Theo's words. He couldn't really remember if he'd ever heard his father mention the Diggorys, and they certainly weren't one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight. But there were Pureblooded families that didn't make the list, and even some families that were among the twenty-eight last names that most certainly had Muggle blood somewhere in their lineage. And to have not one, but two Hogwarts-famous Quidditch players in her family was certainly a sign of good breeding.

Not that any of that mattered.

Because he did not like her, nor was he interested, and he did not care about Clara fucking Diggory.

He didn't want to get to know her or find out more about her family or look her last name up in the Hogwarts archives in the library. Not at all. And if his thoughts strayed to the latter part of Theo's babbling, the part where he inferred that Clara didn't seem to despise him or feel absolutely terrified of him, it was only because he was curious about it. But he didn't really care.

Impulsively, Draco threw his covers off of him and crossed the room over to Theo's dresser. Feeling around for the familiar cloth packaging he had held in his hands only a while before, his hand scrambled inside of the fabric and grabbed at a cookie. He carefully folded the cloth back over as if it had never been touched and he walked back to his bed, quietly slipping under his sheets with a cookie in hand.

If he just so happened to think it was one of the best bloody chocolate chip cookies he'd had in a long time, then that was a thought he'd keep all to himself.

A/N: Thank you all so much for reading my latest chapter! Please leave a review and let me know what you think!