Clara arrived for Transfiguration and sat down at her assigned desk beside Hannah. Hannah briefly regarded her with the smallest of smiles. There was something business-like and professional about the exchange. Clara never expected them to become close.
Then again, Clara never imagined herself being close to anyone.
Professor McGonagall had already written some instructions on the blackboard, including the relevant page number of Intermediate Transfiguration and the contents they would cover. McGonagall wasn't exactly her favourite teacher — she was always picking on her for answers — but to give credit where it was due, she was organised.
"Psst, Clara."
Brows lifting in surprise, Clara quickly turned around. Hermione occupied the desk behind her with a girl from Ravenclaw she didn't know the name of. She'd never needed to turn around before.
"Have you noticed the gross injustice in the treatment of house-elves across the wizarding world?" Hermione whispered, concealing her mouth with her hand.
Hannah's gaze shot back. She rolled her eyes. "No one's gonna join your elf club, Granger."
Hermione childishly sneered at Hannah. "They get a very raw deal, house-elves," she continued, with a little too much passion for a Tuesday morning. "They're effectively forced into slavery their entire lives, with absolutely no legal protection or rights. That is why I've started a society to protect them, to provide hope to the house-elf community: the 'Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare' or S. P. E. W for short."
Clara hesitated. "Doesn't that spell-?"
"Yes, I know what it spells," Hermione cut in. "My initial idea for the name was 'Stop the Outrageous Abuse of Our Fellow Magical Creatures and Campaign for a Change in Their Legal Status', but it didn't really abbreviate well. Anyway, that's beside the point. Would you like to join?" she asked hopefully. She added in a hushed tone, "For a fee of only 2 sickles towards the cause."
Hannah finally gave the interaction her full attention. She tapped Clara on the shoulder, offering an understanding look.
"You don't have to join, you know," Hannah reassured her.
"Um . . ."
The tension in the air was thick, so thick. Between Hannah's promises of no repercussions for saying no and Hermione's wide-blown puppy eyes, Clara didn't know which way to turn, or which outcome was least likely to leave someone disappointed.
She dropped two coins onto Hermione's desk. "That sounds nice. I guess."
Hermione was absolutely delighted. "Wonderful!"
"Miss Granger!" McGonagall snapped. They whipped around towards the front. "I do hope you are focusing on the work I've set. Unless, of course, you don't find it stimulating enough."
Hermione went bright red. "Not at all, professor."
McGonagall was not a woman to be messed with, but perhaps she was feeling lenient today. She fixed each of them a warning glare over the rim of her glasses and turned to continue teaching.
Clara exhaled in relief and resumed her work. Seconds later, a badge landed on her desk, with the word SPEW written across the front. It wasn't even a subtle colour either; neon orange against a hot pink background.
Hannah scoffed. Feeling Hermione's expectant gaze on her, Clara timidly attached it to her jumper in a spot covered by her robe.
With the conclusion of the class, Clara was one of the first to leave. She was now two sickles poorer, and all she had to show for it was an obnoxious badge. All she wanted over her lunch break was solitude.
"Badger."
Malfoy appeared in front of her. She jumped, dropping her book. Naturally, her classmates walked past, disinterested, leaving her to awkwardly pick it up herself.
"Library, same time as last time," Malfoy said, watching her regather herself. Barely concealing his eye roll, he spun on his heel and stalked away. "Be there."
Malfoy was already hunched over their previous library desk by the time she arrived. She didn't know how his hand hadn't cramped yet — she'd seen Quick-Notes Quills write slower than him.
He made no suggestion that he'd noticed her enter. Clara purposefully pulled a chair out with a loud squeak against the floor. This noise earned a blank piece of parchment and a dusty, creased Potions book.
"I hope you're competent enough to draw a legible diagram of an Ashwinder Egg," he remarked.
In comparison to his childlike illustrations? She was sure she would manage. The diagram in question was nothing more than a circle. The insinuation that she would struggle with that was the most wounding insult he'd given yet.
"So the mudblood really bribed you to join her club?" Malfoy asked casually.
Clara's quill froze halfway around the parchment. The semi-circle she'd drawn was now stained with a puddle of ink. Flush with embarrassment and frustration at his flippant use of language, she scrunched the page into a ball and hastily tore herself another blank piece from a stray roll of parchment.
"I paid her to join," Clara responded quietly. "2 sickles."
"The long-molared mudblood is charging people too?" he remarked, brows raised in shock. "I haven't decided what I find funnier — the fact that you actually paid the girl money, or that you're wearing one of her spew badges now."
She instinctively pulled her robes over herself, concealing the incriminating badge from view.
"I don't even understand how you can tolerate any of them," he continued, his tone turning into something resentful, "Weasel, Potter, or their mudblood friend. Though I'm not entirely surprised. The Davies family are closely connected to the Weasleys, aren't they? At least your parents only had the amount of children they can afford."
Clara was given no chance to defend her parents or her family, or ask him to stop saying 'mudblood'.
"And don't get me started on Harry Potter," he said. His lack of eye contact made her wonder if he knew she was there. "'The Boy Who Lived', but who actually cares? It's not like he fought You-Know-Who in the flesh as a 1 year old. He just got lucky, but everyone worships him like a saint. He grabs his scar and suddenly the attention all goes to him."
"You don't like him," she noted aloud.
"That I absolutely do not. He's just an attention-demanding child who somehow figured out a way around the Goblet to enter himself in, as if the attention he has isn't enough as it is," Malfoy grumbled. "What doesn't help is all that favouritism Dumbledore gives him. I don't know which one I hate more."
She couldn't imagine someone hating Dumbledore–
"You're being awfully quiet."
Taken aback, Clara shook her head. "I don't like to talk," she murmured.
He scoffed. "Evidently."
December 7th 1994
Dear diary,
I can officially say that I'm a member of SPEW, the society for the
I don't know the rest, but it's something about house-elves and keeping them safe. Hermione started it up, and I was given a badge and everything. Hannah doesn't even try to hide the fact that she doesn't like it though. I don't know much about house-elves. I just wanted to avoid upsetting Hermione.
Draco Malfoy doesn't like it either. He actually tried to talk to me today, not like two people working on an assignment together, but instead like equals . . . ish. It was still uncomfortable, especially the long awkward pauses, but there weren't many of those. He actually has a lot to say.
He doesn't like Hermione, Harry Potter, or Ron Weasley at all. Obviously it's not news to me, since I've seen him pick on them for years, but to actually hear him saying his opinions out loud was different. In reality, I think he's just jealous of Harry and the attention he gets. In his position, I think I would be the same though, and considering all the stuff with my diary at the moment, I'm not in a place to judge.
Besides, when you have a father like Lucius Malfoy, it's not surprising when you have a personality like that. My dad often bumps into him at work, but I only ever met that man once. He called me insolent and disrespectful for not responding to him. My dad got angry. It was one of the most uncomfortable days of my life.
I try not to write about Astoria daily, but it's so hard when the girl annoys me just a little bit more every day. She's just so desperate for attention around Malfoy, always clinging onto his arm and fawning over him. And not only is she likeable, but she's also really pretty. How can I compete with someone who looks like that?
At least the twins have gotten off my back for a while. I haven't really had any comments or jokes made for a week or two, but I know that could change at any moment. I just hope they're prepared to face the disappointment of my underwhelming reaction again.
Professor Sprout gathered the years 4-7 Hufflepuffs in the common room one otherwise quiet Saturday afternoon. Clara occupied a nice, secluded space in the corner of the room between Susan Bones and the wall. The boys and girls had been segregated to either side of the space, and her stomach consequently filled with dread.
"Good morning, Hufflepuffs!" Sprout's cheery voice had no impact on the glum, bored expressions on their faces. "The brainier of those in my house may already be aware that, as part of tradition for the Triwizard Tournament, a ball, namely the Yule Ball, is to be held on Christmas day."
A few faces lifted, some individuals breaking off into excitable chatter. Sprout made a short sound of impatience which brought a wave of instant silence.
"Hufflepuffs, I don't remember giving permission for you to have your own separate conversations just yet," she scolded them. One or two snickered and continued chatting. "As I was saying, the Yule Ball is primarily a dance, a waltz if you will, so each Head of House has been tasked with teaching their pupils to waltz with a partner."
"Imagine Snape teaching his lot," a boy remarked. Most of the room quietly laughed with him.
"Yes, that's quite enough of that, Maltby." Sprout lifted a hand to silence him, like she'd had to do this far too many times. "On the evening of the Yule Ball, I expect every one of you to be on your best behaviour, as I know you most frequently are. As a house known and respected for our politeness and modesty, it would be a shame to taint that image in the course of one night."
"So no taking Firewhisky shots or skinny-dipping in the Black Lake?" a boy beside Maltby contributed helpfully.
Sprout shook her head disapprovingly. "I would not condone that type of outrageous behaviour on any occasion, Warmsley. Now for the exciting part. Let's have two volunteers . . ."
Every single Hufflepuff girl shrunk back into her seat in unison. The boys made a show of nonchalance, but behind that mask they were all looking equally uncomfortable. Clara folded her arms over herself defensively.
"Davies, perfect." Sprout pulled her upright by her arm and escorted her to the middle of the room. "And who else? Who better than our Champion, Diggory, wonderful."
Someone behind her grumbled in disappointment and shot Clara an envious look. Clara would've been more than happy for them to swap places — she would've begged her to demonstrate instead — but then Cedric was standing directly in front of her with his signature charming smile and his hands in his pockets.
"Now Cedric, if you would be so kind as to take Clara's left hand in your right," He reached for her hand before she'd had the chance to wipe the sweat from her palm, "and Clara, your hand on her shoulder, and his on your waist."
Clara allowed her hand to hover over Cedric's shoulder. Cedric couldn't have been more confident and unphased, placing his hand on her waist firmly and looking to Sprout for further instructions. They were extremely close now. She was glad she'd applied perfume.
"Lovely!" Sprout pointed over her shoulder towards Filch. "Mr Filch, whenever you're ready."
There was a long, awkward pause as Filch tried to get the phonograph working. The music started for a split second but distorted immediately into something really unpleasant and grating.
"Any good at dancing, Davies?" Cedric asked, filling the void of silence. Clara shook her head. "Good, then I suppose we're in this together. Tell me if I step on your feet."
The music blared. A few screamed. A small adjustment to the volume was made, filling the room with the gentle sound of a waltz.
"Now continue at this beat, and begin," Sprout instructed. "1, 2, 3 . . . 1, 2, 3 . . ."
Cedric may have claimed that he had no idea on how to waltz, but clearly he was just being modest. He took the lead, moving like this was choreography he was already familiar with. She tried to focus on Sprout's consistent instructions, and not some of the cold and jealous glares she was receiving from her housemates.
"And prepare to lift . . . 1, 2, 3."
Cedric planted both hands on her waist and lifted her just an inch or two off the ground in time with the music. He placed her back onto the ground and spun around with her once, twice, three times. She could barely keep her balance anymore.
At least Clara knew what she wouldn't be doing on the evening of the 25th of December.
⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰
Author's note: Spew should never have been left out of the movies.
[Edited 22/06/2024]