In less than 24 hours, their project would be out of their hands and in Snape's, leaving their fates beyond their control. Hell, their fates were already beyond their control — Snape wasn't exactly known for his fair and diplomatic marking.
Clara and Malfoy worked in complete silence in the library late in the evening after double Defence Against the Dark Arts. Neither of them had even had the chance to change out of their uniforms. There was simply far too much left for them to do, so much more now that the deadline had become all the more imminent.
Malfoy placed down his quill. Clara glanced up bemusedly; he cast his gaze down to his wristwatch and sighed.
"It's 6," he told her, rubbing his face tiredly. "You hungry?"
She nodded. "I could eat."
Dinner times tended to be slightly more organised than breakfast at Hogwarts, but not by much. There was a general rule of thumb that you sat with your house on whatever designated table that was, but there were a fair few exceptions that no one questioned, like the group of Hufflepuffs that sat with the Gryffindors, or couples between houses that preferred to be beside their partner.
The room was absolutely packed by the time they made it there. The only issue with being perfectly on time was that it made finding seating exponentially more difficult.
Clara looked at the Hufflepuff table dejectedly. It was full again, just as it had been for the last few days. Ever since a group of first year Ravenclaws had invited themselves in, it had gotten so much more crowded than she was comfortable with.
Her eyes locked on the other Hufflepuff girls in her year. There was a bit of space between each of them, enough to make room if they all moved along which, judging by Hannah's presence there, they probably would if she was brave enough to ask.
A hand caught her by her shoulder the moment she rotated her body in their direction. "Stanmore's over there with her gang." Malfoy pointed to the usual Hufflepuff group she hung around with and the cluster of girls in red and gold ties that accompanied them. "Come on."
"What–"
Before she could protest, she was guided towards the end of the Slytherin table where Malfoy and his friends normally sat. There was always extra space there, but that was mostly just because the group of them liked to spread out comfortably, and no one had the balls to stop them. They were the kind of group where if you had beef with one, you had beef with them all.
"Draco!" Pansy Parkinson smiled, playfully reaching out and wiggling her fingers. Any kindness in the expression melted away the moment she locked eyes with Clara. "And a badger. Okay."
Malfoy just sniffed a laugh — not even trying to defend her from the wrath of his friends — and removed his hand from Clara's shoulder. He stopped at the end of the table on the left hand side and motioned impatiently for Blaise Zabini and the other boys to move. "Shove up."
Zabini rolled his eyes and reluctantly shuffled along until he bumped into the human wall that was Crabbe. "Or you could get off your fat arse and arrive here on time instead," he suggested unhelpfully.
Malfoy sat down on the end beside him and nudged his shoulder light-heartedly. "Shut up."
Clara wasn't completely sure what she was supposed to do with herself in this situation. Thankfully Pansy had budged up a small amount upon their arrival, but after sitting down Clara realised that it definitely hadn't been enough for her to sit with a comfortable amount of arm and leg room.
Noticing her hunched shoulders, Malfoy spoke up. "Pansy, move it," he said nonchalantly.
Pansy threw her hands up indignantly. "I did move! See?" She motioned to a heavily squished Clara. "It has space!"
Millicent Bulstrode leaned forward and peered around her. "You're fucking kidding, Pansy. You couldn't even fit a first year in that gap."
Once Malfoy had placed a clean plate down in front of both himself and Clara, he lifted a finger and wordlessly motioned for Pansy to move, a non-negotiable look in his eyes. Pansy reacted just as Clara could have imagined — she squeaked in frustration and slid away from Clara, purposefully shoving Millicent in the process and nearly spilling a stray glass over. Fortunately, Zabini had quick reflexes.
Clara muttered an indiscernible, "Thank you," under her breath. Pansy wasn't someone she'd ever interacted with fully, and honestly she'd sort of hoped to keep it that way, all things considered.
"So like I was saying," Pansy dropped another fat dollop of mash potato onto her plate, "if I have to do any more work with that mudblood girl next year, I might just hurl myself off the Astronomy Tower or something."
"Do a flip," Zabini contributed.
Pansy sneered at him. "Oh, piss off. At least you got it easy. Snape loves you."
"Because I'm lovable," Zabini replied matter-of-factly.
"Because you're a kiss-arse," Malfoy remarked. "Of course he gave you a nice partner." Ouch.
Her plate of sausages and mash was beginning to look much less appetising than it had just moments earlier. A reminder that Malfoy wasn't exactly over the moon about being stuck with her as a project partner was the last thing she needed today. Or frankly wanted.
"You know, just because you were partnered with a freak doesn't mean you have to be joined to it by the hip," Pansy reminded him, a cruel jab at Clara.
Malfoy didn't deny the comment — he laughed. "Play nice, will you?" He looked at Clara, who was shuffling mash around her plate with her fork without actually eating any. "Aren't you hungry?"
Clara glanced up, and then back down at her plate. "Yep," she answered hastily, proving her point by gathering a hefty amount of mash on her fork and forcing herself to swallow it without an unpleasant look on her face.
"You've spooked her," Daphne Greengrass teased Pansy. "Nice one."
Pansy held her hands up in mock surrender. "The badger knows what it is!"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow, but his expression didn't fall enough to suggest any genuine annoyance. "Play nice," he repeated a little firmer this time.
Clara was starting to feel very out of place. Aggressively so. In fact, if not for Malfoy beside her, she was convinced she would've already been bullied away from the table 5 minutes ago.
She wasn't entirely sure why Malfoy being here mattered. Were the Slytherins . . . wary of giving her a hard time in front of him?
She noticed Malfoy glancing frequently over his shoulder for the following few minutes. It was as if he was waiting for someone. Clara had the feeling she knew exactly who.
Malfoy must've caught sight of the person in question, because his face broke into a warm smile even his own close friends never received. Astoria Greengrass hurried over to the group with light, animated steps and a pretty smile on her face.
Clara's fist tensed around her fork. She stared at the grains in the wood of the table. She didn't have enough trust in her own face to believe she could look Astoria in the eye without scowling.
The table rumbled with the sound of a plate being dragged and food being served. "Merlin, I'm starving," Astoria complained. "I didn't think that Charms class was ever going to end."
"It never does," Daphne assured her younger sister. "You'll never really escape Charms."
"I remember double Charms being pretty bad," Pansy mused. "Was that first year? Or second?"
"Second," Malfoy responded, looking like the reminder pained him. "I think Flitwick lost his mind that year with his, 'The bell doesn't dismiss you, I do!'."
Clara had just been about to make a remark in agreement — double Charms had honestly taken years off her lifespan — but before she could even open her mouth, Malfoy turned to Astoria.
"Need a hand?" he offered.
The Charms conversation continued among the others, Clara could have easily spoken anyway. She wasn't sure why she didn't, or why she found she was struggling to focus on any of the entertaining interactions around her. Crabbe and Goyle were competitively catapulting grapes down the table towards the first years using their spoons, and Pansy was actively supplying them with ammo while Millicent snuck away to steal grapes from neighbouring tables. That was an interesting watch.
Not Malfoy with his arm around Astoria's waist, pouring her a glass of lemonade.
Clara busied herself with sipping on her iced tea. It tasted raspberry flavoured, but she didn't really care. What mattered was that the flavour gave her something to focus on.
"Oh shit!" Astoria's hand flew to her mouth to muffle her snort of laughter. "I didn't even notice the badger for a second — hi!"
Now Clara was truly struggling to stay casual. She placed down her glass in exchange for a ladle with the intention of serving herself some more onion gravy.
"Hi," Clara said quietly, disinterestedly even. Pansy snickered.
Apparently oblivious, Astoria sipped her lemonade. "What a day." She lowered her glass and shamelessly nicked a sausage from Malfoy's plate while he wasn't looking. "You know, I nearly left my diary in the courtyard — that would've been–"
Gravy splashed up into the air and over Clara's robes. All over. Her tie and shirt were ruined. The heat from the liquid sent sparks of pain and discomfort across her skin as the temperature seeped through her clothes.
She didn't even know how it had happened — one second she'd been holding the ladle, and the next she had more gravy on herself than on her sad-looking plate of mashed potato. It was just a miracle her subconscious hadn't managed to flick any in Astoria's direction.
Her dignity was gone in a way she'd never known it to be before. When she instantly stood, the sole of her shoe slipped in the gravy puddle forming under the table and she slipped back onto the bench with a grimace. She kicked her legs around to stand up, embarrassed, frustrated beyond belief, and covered in food.
"Man." Zabini leaned back and peered under the table. "Filch is about to have a field day. He loves a spillage."
Crabbe laughed in agreement and high-fived him.
Clara stared at herself for some moments as little pieces of onion slid down her front. No napkin. No cleaning spell she knew for food stains. No will to continue in society either.
"I'm going to clean myself up," she said, her voice more meek than usual.
Pansy must've had at least one empathetic bone lingering in her body, because her hand shot up to her mouth to hide her snicker. "Want some help?" she offered scathingly.
"I'm fine," Clara said, despite not actually being fine at all. She considered saying something else before leaving, her sentence felt incomplete, but all she managed was a small, "Bye."
This was a very special kind of mortifying experience. Clara decided within those moments that she would never sit with the Slytherins again. She could never. Not for as long as . . .
No, that sounded pathetic. Not for as long as Malfoy dated Astoria?
But in Clara's defence, anyone else she could cope with. Literally anyone. It wasn't like she cared that much. And even if she did, it was none of her business.
Except with Astoria, it was her business. In fact, it was a relationship built exclusively on her business.
"Davies, where are you going?"
Clara walked very fast, so fast that her legs burned. She didn't turn to face Malfoy. "To clean up," she responded dismissively.
Malfoy followed her persistently. "At least let me help," he pressed. "We have to finish working later anyway."
She shook her head. "Not tonight–"
His hand wrapped around her arm to pull her back. Clara stumbled to an abrupt stop.
"It's due tomorrow," he said insistently.
She sharply yanked her arm out of his grip. "Then we can finish tomorrow at break," she reasoned, her jaw clenched in mild annoyance she was really trying to internalise.
Malfoy, now equally defensive, held his hands up in surrender. "If we miss the deadline, it's on you."
"Fine," she huffed, turning on her heel. "Goodnight, Malfoy."
Much to her relief, he didn't follow her.
The previous few pages were filled with beginnings of paragraphs which had been abruptly stopped and covered with hasty scribbles. Each rounded letter left a deep scratched indent in the paper.
January 9th 1995
Dear diary,
I can't keep doing this. I can't keep pretending that everything is normal. Astoria is sad, shallow, and intentionally leeching on my deepest thoughts and fears for her own benefit.
And what am I supposed to do? Stop it? That ship has long since sailed. If I say something now, that'll open a floodgate I'm not prepared to open. I just want my diary back, and I want this all to stop. All of it. I regret it all.
And don't get me started on Draco fucking Malfoy. I can't deal with him. One minute he's a complete pillock I regret ever expressing interest in, and the next he pretends he has even an ounce of care about what happens to me. And his friends aren't much better. They're obviously confused why he keeps me around, and honestly I am too.
I wish everyone would just get a grip and learn to act normally. At this rate, how in Merlin's name am I supposed to make it to June?
Clara timidly slipped into the Great Hall, filled with more relief than apprehension. Charms was one of many classes she was only ever glad to leave. Especially on a day like this — Charms followed by Potions immediately after lunch wasn't for the faint-hearted as it was, let alone whenever Flitwick decided to hold them all hostage for bad behaviour.
It didn't take her long to locate Malfoy. He was sitting in the same place as he had last night — not a time she enjoyed being reminded of — but now only Pansy and Hermione were sitting opposite him.
Put off by the tense silence as the three locked in on their coursework, Clara quietly sat down beside Malfoy and placed her bag on the floor. She watched him twist and fold a sheet of parchment between his fingers with expert precision and a look of dire focus shadowing his face.
"What are you doing?" she dared to ask.
"He's glueing your project together," Pansy answered, apparently looking for any excuse to lower her quill and chat. "You know Snape doesn't reward extra marks for presentation, right?"
"Well, I think–"
"No one cares," Pansy cut in before Hermione could finish.
Malfoy shook his head, eyes still on his work. "Pansy, let Granger agree with me."
Picking up a bottle of glue, he carelessly moved it across the table and slapped it down in front of Clara, along with two rolls of parchment and a stack of loose diagrams and equations. Only by reading between the lines, she understood that she was to assemble this together into one cohesive piece. Because apparently Malfoy thought he was above interacting with her now.
"I was going to say, I think Snape will appreciate the effort regardless of its bearing on your overall score," Hermione explained, rolling what looked like muggle glue off her fingertips. "But you should keep in mind that he'll want to see evidence that the project was equally split."
Those last two words were aimed at Pansy, but the latter shrugged the comment off. Literally everyone knew that Pansy only really aimed for a pass in all subjects — made abundantly clear by her devil-may-care attitude to lessons — but her mentality hadn't failed her yet. She usually scored higher in tests and assignments than Clara, anyway.
Merlin, she really was feeling bitter today. But judging by the stiff presence beside her, so was Malfoy. Not that he had any damn right to be–
With a huff of irritation, she smeared a thick layer of glue onto the underside of a jewelweed leaf and pressed it against the page. She didn't even care how sloppy it looked. She was one minor inconvenience away from tears already.
Malfoy in the meantime reached for a bowl of cheese crisps and snatched it away from an indignant first year, who dared to make a retaliating comment before having a Full Body-Bind Curse performed on him in plain sight. Clara figured it was better to pretend she couldn't see the 11 year old rolling away and swearing.
She tried to lift her hand from the parchment roll. Tried. The glue had fused her skin with the paper.
With another huff that threatened to become a sob, she grabbed a spare quill from her bag with her free hand and started to manoeuvre the tip of the quill between her skin and the jewelweed leaf.
Malfoy took a look at the rivalling piece of work opposite him. "If that's the case, Granger, then you two are working to a definite fai–"
Clara's elbow slipped against the table. Her arm banging against the wood levered the pointed metal tip of her quill in a sharp upwards motion cleanly through her finger.
To look on the bright side, her hand was free from the page. However, herself, their coursework, the table, the bench, Malfoy's clothes, and some of Hermione and Pansy's project were now covered in splatters of blood. At least only a drop or two had even reached them. She couldn't say the same for her own coursework.
Hermione leapt to action, grasping Clara's fountain of a finger and squeezing hard enough to subdue the damage. Clara stared dumbly at the blood gushing past Hermione's hand and straight into the bowl of crisps.
Clara wasn't listening anymore. This was a different kind of breaking point. Not a tearful, emotional breaking point. An apathetic breaking point. If this wound wasn't a sign to stop trying, she didn't know what was.
Hermione snapped at Malfoy to place pressure on the wound while she climbed over the table to help Clara to stand. Pansy made a gagging sound and whimpered, "Eugh, that's a bit of her finger!"
"I'll take her," Hermione said, standing close enough to wake Clara up from her internal reverie. She guided Clara's uninjured hand to press down on the wound herself. "Don't you still have a project to submit?"
"Who put you in charge, Granger?" Malfoy remarked. Both of his palms were damp with blood. "I'm sure I could easily get a deadline extension, but your project was barely scraping a pass to begin with."
"Snape's even less likely to give an extension to Clara," Hermione reminded him.
Clara closed her eyes. Hermione must've mistaken her expression as pain, if her reassuring words were anything to go by. An easy mistake to make. Clara wasn't feeling nearly as much pain from this as she was dread for her one and only class that afternoon.
She made it to Potions only 3 seconds late with a bandaged hand to show for herself. Usually injuries were enough of an excuse for Snape.
"And just what do you think you're doing, Miss Davies?"
Usually.
Hermione — having left the hospital wing early in order to submit her (slightly bloodstained) project — raised her hand. "Professor, I can–"
"I wasn't addressing you, Miss Granger," Snape interjected scathingly. His icy glare turned to Clara. "Well? Have you anything to say for yourself other than gaping like a fish?"
She stared at her obviously injured finger, a factor Snape happily ignored, and shook her head. At least Malfoy had the decency to untuck her chair for her.
"Miss Granger," Snape paced over to Hermione's desk, "what did I say at the start of the year?"
Hermione swallowed. "That tardiness in all forms will result in detention," she said tensely, "but Professor, she–"
"Miss Davies, congratulations," Snape drawled, "because you have successfully earned yourself your second detention this year."
Clara nodded. It was much easier to just take the hit when it came to Snape. Trying to bargain for a more reasonable arrangement was a lottery she didn't care for.
As far as Potions lessons usually went, somehow this was a success.
{. .}
Author's note: Having a full time job is the biggest killer of writing motivation confirmed not clickbait
[Edited 18/12/2024]