Clara was running a little late to Potions. Professor Flitwick had held her behind at the end of Charms to discuss the "points of improvement" in her essay on Summoning Charms, which was just a polite way of saying it was terrible and she needed to redo the entire thing. She was reaching a point where she doubted she could complete her other homework assignments on top of resubmitting any incorrect ones. She regretted ever complaining about the third year workload.
When she reached the Potions dungeon, the entire class was still waiting outside the classroom. She approached the group hesitantly, her bag over her shoulder and her book gripped to her chest.
She overheard a conversation. Only two people were talking at volume. Malfoy was taunting Harry Potter. They both had their wands out, sizing each other up, both threatening but neither of them acting on it.
"Go on then, Potter," Malfoy dared him. He was looking smug. Too smug. "Moody's not here to look after you now. Do it, if you've got the guts–"
A barrage of hexes were expelled from both of their wands, accompanied by shouts of various spells she knew would sting if they ever made contact. Hardly any of them did though. They bounced off the stone walls, sometimes chipping into the already crumbling structures, but then dissipating out into the air.
A curse hit Hermione, although there was no distinct way of telling who was responsible. Clara moved around the group to try to get a better view of the ever-growing size of her front teeth. She stared at the messy duel with morbid fascination.
Another reflected spell flew at Clara faster than she could react. It hit her square in the stomach, tearing her off her feet and hurling her into the air. She hit a wall with a bruising smack. Her impact with the floor afterwards definitely broke her nose.
The adrenaline was dizzying. Some of her classmates were helping her up. She stood up, feeling at least a couple of joints out of place. Her knee felt dislocated. Her shoulder was bruised. Hell, her entire side was probably littered with a few bruises.
"Are you okay?" Justin moved in front of her, his eyes fixed on her nose. She would've nodded, but that would be a lie. "Let's get you to Madam Pomfrey."
She recognised Hannah as the one mainly helping her walk by her white painted nails, something Snape probably would've ripped into her for. Clara was happy that her injury could be of assistance.
Snape's booming voice carried through the dungeon. She tossed a glance over her shoulder for just long enough to notice a pair of silver eyes watching her limp away.
By Saturday morning, Clara had fully recovered from the incident outside her Potions classroom. Unfortunately, that meant she had no excuse for not going to Hogsmeade with the twins as she'd promised a few days prior. She would've preferred to be bed bound in the hospital wing.
Clara left for Hogsmeade with her Hufflepuff scarf around her neck, and her gloved hands in the pockets of her coat. The air was freezing at this time of year. The thick layers of snow that coated the school grounds and beyond was both magical and infuriating.
She entered the Three Broomsticks and dusted her snow-covered shoes off at the door. Fred and George were sitting at a booth very close to the door, dressed identically bar the colours of their scarves.
"Davies!" Fred waved her over. George shuffled up to give her some space. "We thought you'd never show up."
Clara had too.
George sat back, exchanging a scheming look with his twin. "Bet you're wondering why we brought you here, right?"
She slid her coat off and nodded sheepishly.
"Well, we were thinking — Oh, did you want a drink?" Fred asked. Clara shook her head. "We were thinking . . ."
George finished his point in tandem. ". . . that actually, we've never heard you laugh. Strange right?"
"Never have we even seen a smile from you," Fred added.
George nodded in agreement, feigning a look of immeasurable disappointment in their realisation. "So then that got us thinking . . ."
"What can we do to make you laugh?" Fred continued.
"So Fred and I composed a list of jokes of our own design," George explained.
Fred revealed a folded up piece of parchment from his pocket and unfolded it. "If these don't make you laugh, I don't know what will."
Clara braced herself for the worst.
Fred cleared his throat unnecessarily. "First one, here we go. What is the best method of getting rid of a rash at Hogwarts?" He paused for effect. "With Quit-itch!"
The pair of them both howled with laughter. Clara couldn't even pretend to laugh at that.
George snatched the parchment from Fred and smoothed out any creases. "Okay, so no progress, but that was only the first one," George said, mostly reassuring himself. "We still have plenty more laugh opportunities, especially with some of the gems here. I think you'll like this one. Why is Mad-Eye Moody such a bad professor? Because he can't control his pupils!"
Over the next 20 minutes, the Weasley twins worked their way through the entire list. At some point, they'd started improvising, which somehow proved even less successful than their scripted attempts.
Fred was the first to give in, tearing the parchment in half defeatedly. "I'm out."
George was still wiping tears of jubilation from his eyes. "Does anything make you laugh?"
She shrugged. "My cat," she said honestly. "My dad sometimes."
Fred batted a hand at her exasperatedly. "This is useless. George, we need a new approach." He lifted a hand, flagging down the bar. "Rosmerta, I'll have a refill of my Butterbeer!"
Clara was beginning to develop a distinct dislike for Mondays. She had Care of Magical Creatures in the morning, which meant more caring for Blast-Ended Skrewts — it was a miracle no one had sustained any lasting injuries yet — and then in the afternoon she endured Potions with the increasingly passive-aggressive Draco Malfoy.
She entered the Potions classroom late, after being held back at lunch by George's freshest batch of unfunny jokes. She'd faked a laugh this time, hoping that it would be enough for them to give up and leave her be, but apparently she was more transparent than she wanted to believe.
She placed a hand on her seat just as Snape went silent. "Ah, Miss Davies. Why are you late?"
Clara warily placed her book on the desk. "Sorry, Professor," she muttered towards the floor.
"That did not answer my question," Snape retorted, "so I will ask this one more time: why are you late to my lesson?"
"Um . . ." she stammered. "I lost track of time . . . Professor."
"Miss Davies," he started, and dread immediately started to settle in her stomach, "if this occurs one more time, I shall have you in detention every night until the end of this term. Do I make myself clear?"
Clara swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded. She waited until Snape stalked back off towards the front of the room to allow a shaky breath to leave her lips. She sat down in her seat, her heart still racing so fast that she wasn't sure if she could even stay conscious at this kind of heart rate. It was making her feel lightheaded.
No one acknowledged the vacant look in her eyes. As the lesson continued, Snape barely paused for a moment to allow his students to take notes or clarify their understanding. Malfoy ignored her, which was probably for the best. She was determined to keep her disturbed, upset mess of emotions in check. The last thing she needed was a crybaby reputation.
"Now, for your project assignment," Snape began, earning groans from across the room. "Make one more noise and I'll take off a week from its due date."
The class went silent.
"We will be doing things slightly differently this year," he explained, pacing along the front of the room with his arms crossed. "This subject is being used to assess the usefulness of collaborative assignments. Rather than your end-of-year grade being solely based on the results of one single examination, an additional coursework element will be involved."
The class began to whisper indignantly.
"I have not finished," Snape interrupted sternly.
Silence.
"This year, only 40% of your grade will stem from your end-of-year exams," Snape explained. Clara started to write this all down. "That is 20% from your Theory of Potions written exam, and 20% from your practical exam, which will take place in this classroom under my supervision as usual. The remaining 60% will be earned through 3 project assignments, each to be completed and submitted in pairs," he said, allowing the news to sink in slowly. "You will work with whoever you are seated beside, no exceptions. Should you believe you are above the rules and fail to follow my simple instructions, that will be an instant fail."
Was this cardiac arrest? Clara wanted to run, or cry, or throw up, or hurl herself at a wall, or possibly all at the same time. There wasn't really an adequate physical reaction she could have. This was out-of-body in the most disconcerting way imaginable.
She peered up at Malfoy from behind the sheet of dark hair covering her face. Malfoy was looking back down at her from under his nose. She recognised that look on his face. He was looking at her like she was too inferior to be interacting with him in the first place. Were she a braver person, maybe she would've said something, or caused an argument.
She wished she was a braver person.
Her uncomfortable gaze returned to her desk. She curled her hands into fists, her overgrown fingernails digging painfully into her palms.
In the midst of the commotion, Snape had released details of the assignment on the blackboard, expecting notes to be taken immediately. She scribbled the contents down word for word. As far as she understood, the task was to submit a project on a potion of choice from within the syllabus, including research on the potion's development, and many pages of essays on its uses in today's world.
Her hand faltered. Malfoy sighed heavily and muttered something quietly to Crabbe. She strained to hear what he was saying.
"I don't understand what progress I'm actually going to make by working with a badger who doesn't even know how to hold a conversation. My father will certainly be hearing about this. I will not be accepting a fail grade or anything below Exceeds Expectations due to the incompetence of a girl who's incapable of walking in a straight line with a glass of water."
The intentional expulsion plan was sounding more favourable by the day.
November 16th 1994
Dear diary,
The Draco Malfoy situation only gets worse by the day.
I know, it sounds impossible, he hates me enough as it is, but now I have to collaborate on this insanely long project with him for the next month or so. That'll mean hours of awkward conversations, if any. On the plus side, at least he doesn't seem like the talkative, friendly type, so maybe we'll be able to work on this in silence.
Snape still hates me. I can't say I'm surprised, but he had a go at me when I arrived late for our lesson. Although technically it was George Weasley's fault, I'm not going to hold it against him. He didn't mean to get me into troub
Lilia leapt up onto her bed and began to nudge her quill out of her hand with the wet tip of her nose. With a half-hearted sigh, Clara placed down her quill and diary in exchange for her little black cat.
She laughed under her breath. "Can I write now?" she whispered.
Lilia stretched out her front paw to lick it clean before rolling onto her back. Clara finally picked up her quill and continued to write, stroking the cat's stomach with her free hand.
I saw Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass at breakfast. They were both sitting really close and smiling. Not a normal smile either. That smile people do when they're "in love" or something. I try not to look because it annoys me deep down every time I do.
I think what makes it worse is the fact that Astoria is one of those people everyone loves to be around as well. I asked about her today, and the few responses I got were "oh yeah, she's nice, isn't she?" and "I thought she'd be put into Hufflepuff, not Slytherin". I just wish I could tell them what she's actually like, and how desperate she actually is for attention and acceptance. It only makes me wonder how many times she's done things like this before.
George and Fred haven't given up their mission to make me laugh, not at all. Bless them, they're trying, but I barely talk to them, forget about laughing in front of them. Besides, I hate the sound of my laugh, so it would only be embarrassing if they heard it too. I sound like a whale that's been shoved into a giant blender.
Things with Justin only get more awkward as time goes on. At first, when we initially ended whatever small relationship we had, we stayed as relatively close friends, but now every conversation feels forced and distant. I used to talk with him as much as I do my parents, but now I can't help but consider him a total stranger. He doesn't really act the way he used to.
4th year is turning out to be a terrible time to be around. I haven't even put much thought towards the Triwizard Tournament because my own life takes up every inch of space in my mind.
And I really thought I'd manage to get through this year like any other year.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Author's note: Fred and George are icons. Argue with the wall.
[Edited 19/06/2024]