mirrorball

chapter sixteen

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Clara was late. For the first time in her entire life, Clara was rushing to be somewhere. Last night, for unknown reasons, she had been unable to fall asleep. Some sort of chill had run through her veins, causing her to toss and turn with no sweet relief of sleep. Eventually her body went numb and her mind blank, releasing her into the realm of dreams. She had apparently traveled too far in, however, because she had slept 15 minutes past her alarm clock.

Only after Pansy had beaten the living daylights out of her with a potions textbook did Clara awake to the cold morning.

She hurried down through the deserted corridors; the whole school was outside, either already seated in the stadium or heading down toward it. Clara was looking out of the windows she passed, trying to gauge how long she had before the match started, when a noise ahead made her glance up.

She saw Draco walking toward her, accompanied by two girls, both of whom looked sulky and resentful. Malfoy stopped short at the sight of Clara then gave a short, humorless laugh and continued walking. 

"Where're you going?" Clara demanded. "Yeah, I'm really going to tell you, because it's your business, Dupont," sneered Malfoy. The two girls continued walking without Malfoy, seemingly unaware of anything going on around them.  "You'd better hurry up, your little 'Chosen Captain' — 'the Boy Who Scored' — whatever they call him these days, will be waiting for you" 

"What?" said Clara, her voice barely managing to creep above a whisper.

"Don't act stupid. I've seen you two. At apparition training, in the hallways, in Potions. All those little moments when you think no one can see you, I see you."

"You're delusional." Clara's voice was louder now, but the weakness was still evident. "You should visit Madam Pomfrey. Even in the wizarding world, seeing things that aren't there isn't a good sign."

"Right. Because I'm the mad one here. Let's face it, Clara, you've lost it. You, me, your dad, we all know it."

"Don't you dare talk about my father!" yelled Clara. Her hand pushed itself up, reaching to strike the soft skin of Malfoy's cheek. Before her hand could reach its final destination, Draco had grabbed it and pushed it down.

"I always thought you were the smart one. And I do hate to be wrong, but seeing you now... I was so wrong." Malfoy pushed past Clara, following after his two girls, turning the corner, and vanishing from view. Clara stood rooted on the spot and watched them disappear. A tear threatened to fall from her eyes, but she held it back.

Clara had convinced herself that nothing had happened. Draco only had a theory, no evidence, and he certainly hadn't told anyone. Yet. Clara started again for the quidditch match, her heart still beating fast from her encounter with Draco.

She arrived just in time for the match. A seat had been saved for her next to Hermione. Clara looked down on the field as Harry approached the center of the field.

He shook hands with the Hufflepuff Captain, and then, on Madam Hooch's whistle, kicked off and rose into the air, higher than the rest of his team, streaking around the pitch in search of the Snitch.

"And that's Smith of Hufflepuff with the Quaffle," said a dreamy voice, echoing over the grounds. "He did the commentary last time, of course, and Ginny Weasley flew into him, I think probably on purpose, it looked like it. Smith was being quite rude about Gryffindor, I expect he regrets that now he's playing them — oh, look, he's lost the Quaffle, Ginny took it from him, I do like her, she's very nice... oh, she's looking at me! You're doing spectacular, honey!"