I OWN NOTHING. Credits go to their respective owners.

There was something about Divination class that made it seem to drag on for an eternity. Perhaps it was your lack of an efficient inner eye. Perhaps it was the insufferable conversation you had to endure courtesy of the pretentious platinum-blonde boy you always sat with and the ostentatious brunette that practically hung off of his arm 24/7, battling desperately for his affection.

It was probably the latter.

This particular class, he had been droning on for a quarter of an hour, shamelessly boasting about his and his family's superiority over the Weasleys—a family you had no problems with—and you had decided to put a stop to his blabbering.

"...and have you seen the way they dress? As if their hand-me-down school robes weren't tattered and disgusting enough... It's utterly disgraceful, how they can walk around dressed like that, with the nerve to call themselves Purebloods. I'm surprised they haven't—"

Promptly and without warning, you smacked him in the back of the head with one of your school books, and a rather heavy one at that. To your amusement, he made a pitiful sort of whimpering noise out of surprisal, and instantly shut his mouth, twisted around, and gave you his undivided attention, much to the dismay of Pansy, who huffed in response. You heard a few snickers around you from those who had witnessed your assault.

"What the hell has gotten into you?!" he spat, rubbing the back of his head and giving you one of his signature glares, mixed with some bewilderment. You stared at him, unamused

"Do you brag like that so often because your minuscule amount of self-confidence craves the constant deluded reassurance that you're better than everyone, or because you think that people actually believe a single word that comes out of your mouth and care about your biased, prejudiced, and downright ignorant opinions?"

Draco, stunned into silence (just as you had hoped), gaped at you, looking as if you had just slapped him across the face—and you would know, it wouldn't have been the first time. Beside him, Pansy glared at you, as she always did, but with a sense of disbelief evident on her sour face. All around you, kids who had overheard the question you so boldly dared to ask were either stunned as well, looking as if this were the best day of their lives, or fearing for what repercussions you would have to face for saying such a thing to Draco Malfoy, of all people.

Luckily, no repercussions would be in store for you that day, or any time soon.

What happened next surprised just about everyone—aside from yourself, of course.

Draco's stunned, rage-filled face had, after a few moments, deflated, and he simply gave you a sour look, shook his head, and crossed his arms, slouching in his seat and glaring around the room with an expression you recognized as his sulk face.

"Remind me why I keep you around?" He muttered, obviously feeling put down. You smirked, ruffling his hair, to which he (almost) instantly flinched away from and began working to undo the damage you had done to his oh-so-precious, platinum locks.

"You should be wondering why I keep you around. If it weren't for our parents, I probably would've dropped your pompous arse years ago."

He only sulked harder in response, and, once again, the people around you seemed to gape in your direction, not only because you had told off Draco Malfoy, but also because it appeared as though you weren't going to have to face the wrath of his father hearing about it.

Class went on as usual, though Draco did seem a little more annoyed than usual, and soon, whispers could be heard throughout the rather stuffy classroom.

"...never seen anyone talk to him like that and get away with it..."

"...see that too? I can't believe they..."

"...how did they...?"

"...'as he grown soft...?"

"They've got Malfoy whipped!" One Gryffindor second year yelled from a table behind you, remarkably louder than everyone else.

Draco snapped his neck around, looking as though he were about to burst from anger as he glared at the child, who had approximately 4 of his friends' hands over his mouth. You simply wore a smirk for the rest of the class.

Well. He wasn't wrong.