Mudblood
“She looks like Lily, isn’t she?”
Severus took a deep breath after hearing Minerva. She’s obviously not helping in the situation at hand. Another Potter, which the two of them knew was another case of trouble.
She does look a lot like Lily, though, except for the hair. Her hair is a symbolism of the Potter family — black, messy but not untamable. Her long hair looks like such big waves in the ocean dancing as the wind flies through it. Her lips, nose, and green eyes are all Lily’s. In two weeks since the start of the term, from the other professors’ classes and from his own, he can definitely say that her intelligence came from Lily herself, there’s no doubt. From his observations, he can confidently say that hers matched Granger’s level of intelligence. Also a fan of books, but not to the point that she would eat while reading and studying, and keeping herself out of socialization to feel the peace of her books. She spends her free time talking to her housemates, and being snuggly and cuddly to her brother, and even daring to sit at the Gryffindor table as if she doesn’t belong to their rival house.
“How is she in the dungeons?” Minerva eyes him carefully through her glasses, as if attempting to see signs if he was going to lie or tell the truth. Minerva has adapted some protective feelings for the girl despite being a Slytherin due to the fact that she is Harry’s sister. James and Lily’s daughter.
“She’s fine, surprisingly. Draco has her under his wing,” he said as he sip on his tea. “As far as I can see, Draco has some…” He winced as he remembers the scenes of silly affections his godson has expressed to the younger Potter. “silly infatuation to the girl.”
“Infatuations,” Minerva snickered. “I never would have guessed that a Malfoy and a Potter can get along so well, remembering that Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy are enemies, same as their parents. Draco’s father has some hatred towards muggleborns, like their mother, Lily.”
Severus took a deep breath as he remembered the sorting ceremony. From the moment he saw her amongst the first years, he already saw it. Lily. She looks so much like her. So much it almost caused him pain for remembering his first love, and also the wife of one of the persons who caused him misery in his life as a student in Hogwarts. Minerva looked at him that time, worry evident in her face, until the time she called her name for her to be sorted. She has tears in her eyes, and looking back at the tables from time to time, probably looking for her brother that is still not in the vicinity. He have thought she would go into Gryffindor, like her family, but to his surprise, she was sorted into Slytherin— into his house.
“I’m glad she is sorted into your house, Severus.” Minerva sipped her tea. “It’s either my house or yours. That way, we can protect her, the siblings. We all know the dangers that’s gonna seek for them both.”
Severus cannot deny that fact. You-Know-Who is the one behind them orphaned, and he is as sure as hell that his followers are gonna look for the siblings. He must watch out for that. No one must endanger Lily’s children.
—
“What happened to you?” Harry sighed as Eleanor sat with them at the Gryffindor Table before lunch. “You all look so stressed.”
“We are,” Ron grimly said.
“Lockheart’s pixies,” Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Pixies?”
“Cornish Pixies,” Harry confirmed. “He let those out and ran out!”
“Ran out?” Eleanor scrunched her face. “He didn’t help you, you mean? What is he still doing here?”
The three of them ranted about the professor being as useless as he is, while Hermione still tried to make sense of things, showing that she has a little fanciness of the useless and worthless professor. She spent her lunch eating on the Gryffindor’s table, and no one had said a word, fortunately, about her eating with the lots of them. A lot are still in their classes but most of the second years are with them, but not paying attention to her.
“Harry,” she nudged at him. “Did you buy me a diary?”
“A diary?” Harry shook his head and frowned at her. “No, why? You didn’t like writing about your days, El.”
“I found a diary in my things,” she shrugged. “Might as well try writing one. Anyways, you have quidditch practice tomorrow, right?”
Harry’s smile beamed brighter than he had all day, and his annoyance on Lockheart’s class swayed away by the question. “Are you going to watch? I promise you, it’s bloody fun!”
“Where’s Draco?” she asked Pansy the next morning when she did not see him in their common room.
The raven-haired girl looked at her from head to toe and smiled, admiring. “Well well, if it isn’t Draco’s girl wearing her Slytherin robes so beautifully,” she winked. “He’s just out there, probably making fun of himself.”
She smiled. “Thank you, Pansy,” she said before going out of the door. She has something to ask Draco but maybe she can do it later. After all, she needs to go to the Quidditch Pitch.
“Hi, Hermione! Hi, Ron!” she greeted them as she sat with her on the pitch. “Where’s Harry and his team?”
“They’re still on the back— oh no.” She frowned when Ron pointed his index finger to another side of the pitch, showing the Slytherin team, at the same time that the Gryffindor Team got out.
“Oh no,” Hermione muttered as she stood up and walked towards the group, so they followed.
The group muttered a bit of words; offensive ones in that matter. About her head of house granting the Slytherin team the permission for the usage of the pitch despite Oliver Wood booking the pitch first, Draco being their new seeker, and their team’s new brooms that Draco’s father has sponsored.
“At least no one on the Gryffindor team has to buy their way in.” Eleanor’s eyes widened when Hermione snapped.
“Hermi—
“No one’s asking for your opinion, you filthy little mudblood.”
Suddenly, the Weasley twins are on top of Draco, cursing him, and Harry’s arms rounded up around her. Both of the teams have been a mess and Ron pointed her taped wand at Ron who is standing already. “Eat slugs!”
The events that had happened went too fast that she did not even exactly notice when they reached Hagrid’s hut. She and Harry are beside Ron, who is awfully vomiting slugs into the basin Hagrid provided him, while Hermione is in front of them with tears in their eyes.
“What does that mean?” Harry asked. “The word that Draco said.”
“What word?” Hagrid asked.
Ron spit out another batch of slugs into the basin and scrunched his face in disgust before answering. “That rightful git just called Hermione a mudblood!”
Hagrid gasped upon what he said and looked at Hermione. “He didn’t.”
“He did,” she confirmed. “I don’t understand the meaning but I could tell that it’s really foul.”
“It is,” Ron said, still slurping out slugs in between his words. “It’s the most— insulting way to refer— to a muggle-born witch. It scrutinized their— personality. It— There are purebloods families like— Malfoys who believe they— are more ahead of others—...”
Hagrid continues his explanation as Ron continues throwing up slugs on the basin again, but she can’t focus on listening now. Draco called Hermione a mudblood. Hermione— her brother’s friend; her friend. Just because she’s a muggle-born? It’s more than foul enough for him to call her that way. Yes, Hermione is wrong to accuse him of buying his way in the team, but he didn’t have to call her that. It’s offensive. It’s bad and foul enough as it is, much more when she remembered that her mother is a muggle-born. Everyone knows that Lily Potter, their mother, is a witch born to muggles, that is also why Aunt Petunia despises her— because according to her, their mom is a freak. A witch. And it looks like Draco had called her a mudblood too, by calling Hermione that thing.
She wouldn’t let that pass.
“Eli!”
Eleanor turned to look at Draco sharply as she intended to. “What?!”
Draco frowned upon hearing her tone but decided to smile nonetheless. “Where are you going?”
“None of your business,” she spat, and tried to walk away again when the boy held her hand.
“Do we have a problem, Eli?” Draco asked. His face screams worry and a look of fear as he studies Eleanor’s current energy.
“Yes,” she nodded and turned her body to face him. “You called her a mudblood, Hermione.”
“Eleanor, she called me a—”
“You don’t need to call her that!” she yelled. “You know that is insulting! It isn’t her fault that she is born to non-magic parents! You cannot be serious and be a prejudiced arse!”
Draco creased his forehead for a few seconds before a smug look she always hated appeared on his face. The kind of face he shows when he’s with Crabbe and Goyle and the other lot of Slytherin members. “And what? It’s still true, though. She’s a mudblood. A mudblood like her deserves to be in ruins as they are dirty, filthy, and unnecessary! They do not deserve to be here because they are just scums!”
“My mom is a muggleborn!” she exclaimed in a whisper. “I am a daughter of a muggleborn. Are you saying that my mother’s blood is filthy as well?”
Draco seemed to realize what he had just said and trembled. “Eleanor—”
“Are you saying that my blood is dirty as well? That my brother and I do not deserve to be here because we’re filthy?” Eleanor tried so hard to keep her voice calm, and her face still. She doesn’t take it to pleasure knowing that people will have to see her so rile up. When Draco wasn’t able to answer, she managed a grin on her face. “Well then, I don’t see why we should continue being friends, Draco, since you clearly have an issue with muggle borns,” she said before storming off, leaving an awfully stricken Draco on where he stood.
Again, Eleanor spent the night in the boys’ dormitory in Gryffindor Tower. She fell asleep cuddling and playing with Harry’s hair until she jolted awake in the middle of the night. Everyone had gone to sleep, including Harry, and Eleanor thanked the gods because she did not want him to see her so distressed. Attempting not to wake her brother up, Eleanor slowly made her way out of his four poster bed and shuffled through her robes in Harry’s bedside table to release her frustrations.
𝐻𝑒 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑑𝑏𝑙𝑜𝑜𝑑. 𝐼𝑡 𝑢𝑝𝑠𝑒𝑡𝑠 𝑚𝑒, 𝑛𝑜𝑡 𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑜𝑙𝑑 𝑖𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑐𝑎𝑢𝑠𝑒 𝑚𝑦 𝑚𝑜𝑚 𝑖𝑠 𝑎 𝑚𝑢𝑔𝑔𝑙𝑒 𝑏𝑜𝑟𝑛, 𝑡𝑜𝑜.
𝑂ℎ, 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟. 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑚 𝑖𝑡𝑠𝑒𝑙𝑓 𝑖𝑠 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑙𝑦 𝑏𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟𝑠𝑜𝑚𝑒, 𝑐𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑙. 𝐼 𝑑𝑜 𝑏𝑒𝑙𝑖𝑒𝑣𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 ℎ𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑛𝑜𝑡, 𝑖𝑛 𝑎𝑛𝑦 𝑤𝑎𝑦, 𝑒𝑛𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑙𝑒𝑑 𝑡𝑜 𝑐𝑎𝑙𝑙 𝑎𝑛𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑦.
𝐼 𝑎𝑔𝑟𝑒𝑒. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑑𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑑𝑜? 𝐻𝑒 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑙𝑠𝑜 𝑚𝑦 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑, 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑘 𝐼 𝑠ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑘𝑒𝑒𝑝 𝑖𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑖𝑓 ℎ𝑒’𝑠 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑖𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑛𝑛𝑜𝑦𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑎𝑛𝑑 ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙 𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑖𝑡𝑢𝑑𝑒.
𝑇ℎ𝑒𝑛 𝑐𝑢𝑡 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑜𝑓𝑓. 𝐴 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑙𝑖𝑘𝑒 ℎ𝑖𝑚 𝑤𝑜𝑛’𝑡 𝑏𝑒𝑛𝑒𝑓𝑖𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢, 𝐸𝑙𝑒𝑎𝑛𝑜𝑟. 𝑌𝑜𝑢 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑟 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑎𝑟𝑒 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑢𝑠𝑒𝑓𝑢𝑙, 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑤𝑖𝑙𝑙 ℎ𝑒𝑙𝑝 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑛 ℎ𝑖𝑚. 𝑇𝑎𝑘𝑒 𝑚𝑒 𝑎𝑠 𝑎𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒. 𝐴𝑛 𝑒𝑥𝑎𝑚𝑝𝑙𝑒 𝑜𝑓 𝑎 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑛 𝑡𝑟𝑢𝑠𝑡.
𝐼 𝑘𝑛𝑜𝑤. 𝑇ℎ𝑎𝑛𝑘 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑓𝑜𝑟 𝑙𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑒𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔.