Mudblood
Chapter 6: Mudblood
Draco felt like he was floating on air the rest of the week. He had finally gotten something he had desperately wanted and not even Potter could ruin it for him. The Slytherins spent most of their free time tailing the Gryffindors, which was rather enjoyable for Draco. He had been wanting to get into the library to get ahead on assignments for the term, and it didn’t hurt that he finally had another opportunity to talk with Granger since their rendezvous outside of Gringotts.
Friday afternoon he found himself perched in front of his favorite window, his feet propped up on the chair across from him. It was a sunny day and the majority of the school was spending every free moment outside on the grounds, soaking up rays.
He had barely cracked open his text when he heard the tell tale pattering of her little feet. She slung her bag of books onto the table with a loud THUNK earning her a scowl from Madam Pince. Granger’s cheeks blushed a deep red and she silently slumped down into a nearby seat.
Draco could just barely see her in the corner of his eyes. He cleared his throat, but she didn’t even glance in his direction. He leaned over the table and gathered his things, moving them to the seat caddycorner from her. She huffed in annoyance at the disturbance but didn’t further acknowledge his presence.
“Nice day outside, Granger—“ he started, but she cut him off.
“If you think you can just keep pretending to be my friend while belittling and ridiculing my real friends in front of me, you’re wrong!” She yelled in a tight whisper so she wouldn’t attract Madam Pince’s attention.
“Granger, you can’t honestly think they’re your real friends. They treat you like shite!” He countered, angrily glaring back at her.
“Language!” She chastised.
“I don’t give a damn about my language , Granger. Tell me honestly, when was the last time they paid any attention to you or your interests without needing you to do their homework or keep them out of trouble?” Draco cocked an eyebrow at her.
He could see the flicker in her expression that he had touched a nerve. He could see it plain as day how Potter and Weasley left her to trail behind, always using her for their own selfish purposes. Now Draco was beginning to think she had seen it too, but she didn’t have many ‘friends’ that he could see and for a Gryffindor, he supposed a Slytherin wouldn’t be her first choice—maybe not even her last.
“It’s none of your business, Malfoy. Why would you care anyway? You’re nothing but a selfish, spoiled, narcissistic bully. Don’t bother talking to me again. I don’t know what game you’re trying to play, but when you insult my friends, you’re insulting me!”
She grabbed her book and quill and shoved them back in her oversized bag. Hermione Granger stomped through the library with her righteous anger, not even caring when Madam Pince scolded her again.
Draco sighed in defeat. He was glad they were the only ones in the library. There went any chance of being her friend or anything more. Did he want more? Draco wasn’t sure why he was even so fascinated with the witch to begin with. He wasn’t sure he could actually be nice to Potter in public either, and he knew for a fact he bloody well couldn’t with Weasley.
…
Draco stewed about his tiff with Granger all evening. He couldn’t even enjoy plotting to steal Gryffindor's practice slot on the pitch. He went to bed early that night, hoping to find some respite from his sour mood only to find dreams of her calling him selfish and spoiled. But the version of Granger in his dreams used much more colorful language…
He woke the next morning before the sun was even up. Draco jolted out of bed full of energy and rearing to get his first Quidditch practice under his belt. He had slept so fitfully he had been laying in bed awake just waiting for his alarm to go off.
Draco dressed carefully in his new practice robes, a deep pine green trimmed in pewter. His name flashed silver across the back of his robes MALFOY.
I can’t wait to see the look on stupid Potter’s face.
The Slytherin team met up in the commonroom, ready to show off their new brooms which had arrived just yesterday. The moment his father had received Draco’s letter entailing how he had earned his spot on the Quidditch team, Lucius had donated six Nimbus 2001 broomsticks for the rest of the team. Draco had wished he hadn’t done that, it was already going to be hard enough to prove he actually didn’t buy his way onto the team.
Shrugging it off, Draco followed the rest of the team down to the pitch. The whole walk there, Flint was radiating with glee and wouldn’t shut up about how pissed Oliver Wood would be about their new brooms.
In fact, the moment the Slytherins were spotted, Oliver Wood shot toward the ground, landing roughly and staggered as he dismounted. Potter and the Weasley twins did the same.
“Flint!” Wood bellowed at the Slytherin Captain.
“This is our practice time! We got up specially for! You can clear off now!”
Flint was much larger than Oliver Wood. He had a look of trollish cunning on his face as he replied, “Plenty of room for all of us, Wood.”
The female Gryffindor players joined the gathering crowd. There were no girls on the Slytherin team, who stood shoulder to shoulder, facing the Gryffindors.
“But I booked the field!” said Wood, positively spitting with rage. “I booked it!”
“Ah,” said Flint. “But I’ve got a specially signed note here from Professor Snape. ‘I, Professor S. Snape, give the Slytherin team permission to practice today on the Quidditch field owing to the need to train their new Seeker’. ”
“You’ve got a new Seeker?” said Wood, distracted. “Where?”
The six large figures in front of him shifted so Draco was now visible to the other team. He smirked, creating shadows over his pale, pointed face in the early morning light.
“Aren’t you Lucius Malfoy’s son?” one of the Weasley twins, looked at Malfoy with obvious dislike.
Before Draco could respond with a look of equal distaste, Flint jumped back in front of him.
“Funny you should mention Draco’s father,” said Flint as the whole Slytherin team smiled still more broadly. “Let me show you the generous gift he’s made to the Slytherin team.”
All seven of them held out their broomsticks. Seven highly polished, brand-new handles and seven sets of fine gold lettering spelling the words Nimbus Two Thousand and One gleamed under the Gryffindors’ noses in the rising dawn. Draco grimaced at the declaration. His reputation would forever be that he bought his way onto the team.
“Very latest model. Only came out last month,” said Flint carelessly, flicking a speck of dust from the end of his own. “I believe it outstrips the old Two Thousand series by a considerable amount. As for the old Cleansweeps” — he smiled nastily at the Weasleys, who were both clutching Cleansweep Fives —“ sweeps the board with them.”
None of the Gryffindor team could think of anything to say for a moment.
“Oh, look,” said Flint. “A field invasion.”
The younger Weasley and Granger were crossing the grass to see what was going on—apparently worried about a confrontation although what they thought they could do about it Draco wasn’t sure.
“What’s happening?” Weasley asked Harry. “Why aren’t you playing? And what’s he doing here?”
He was looking at Malfoy, taking in his Slytherin Quidditch robes.
“I’m the new Slytherin Seeker, Weasley,” Draco drawled smugly. “Everyone’s just been admiring the brooms my father’s bought for our team.”
The Weasel gaped, open-mouthed, at the seven superior broomsticks in front of him.
“Good, aren’t they?” Draco said smoothly. “But perhaps the Gryffindor team will be able to raise some gold and get new brooms, too. You could raffle off those Cleansweep Fives; I expect a museum would bid for them.”
The Slytherin team howled with laughter. Draco looked pointedly at Granger and he saw the anger flash in her eyes. Good. You want to hate the only person who actually cares about you around here? Fine. I’ll give you a reason to hate me.
“At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in,” she said sharply. “They got in on pure talent.”
The smug look on Malfoy’s face flickered. You asked for it.
“No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mudblood,” he spat.
There was an instant uproar at his words. Draco knew he had gone too far—he just couldn’t help himself. Flint had to dive in front of him to stop the twins from jumping on him. One of the other girls shrieked, “How dare you!” and Weasley plunged his hand into his robes, pulled out his wand, yelling, “You’ll pay for that one, Malfoy!” and pointed it furiously under Flint’s arm at Draco’s face.
A loud bang echoed around the stadium and a jet of green light shot out of the wrong end of Weasley’s wand, hitting him in the stomach and sending him reeling backward onto the grass.
“Ron! Ron! Are you all right?” Granger squealed.
Jealousy and anger flared back up in Draco’s chest, masking the regret that had flickered only a moment ago.
The Weasel opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out. Instead he gave an almighty belch and several slugs dribbled out of his mouth onto his lap. Draco was in disbelief at the hilarious sight.
The Slytherin team was paralyzed with laughter. Flint was doubled up, hanging onto his new broomstick for support. Draco dropped to all fours, and banged the ground with his fist, tears were threatening to flow from the corners of his eyes as he scrunched them up tightly. The Gryffindors were gathered around Weasley, who kept belching large, glistening slugs. Nobody seemed to want to touch him. Draco’s sides started to ache from the exertion of laughing to hard.
One by one, the Slytherin players gathered themselves and stalked back toward the castle. Flint declared that Gryffindor could have the field—the entertainment had been worth conceding for.
…
At lunch, Draco got his arse handed to him. He couldn’t deny he deserved it but she—she just got under his skin! It was impossible to ignore her scathing looks and she had clearly been crying, he could see the tear tracks down her cheeks.
“You called Granger a mudblood?! What kind of flirting is that ?” Blaise snarled at Draco.
“It wasn’t flirting! She was acting like a bloody bitch! All I’ve ever done is try to point out just how shite her ‘friends’ are and how horrible they treat her. She didn’t wanna hear it and decided to turn her anger on me like I was the one treating her like that!”
“Well, mate, if you weren’t before, you’re definitely the one treating her like shite now,” Theo shook his head.
Draco pushed around his shepherds pie with his fork before giving up and walking back to the dormitories.
As he left the Great Hall, a flash of bright red hair flew past him in a hurry—the Weaselette. Draco wasn’t sure why he felt the need to observe the younger girl’s behavior, but she was acting rather strangely. She kept looking over her shoulder like she expected to find someone following her.
Draco rolled his eyes. What is it about Gryffindors and their belief that everyone is waiting to see what they’ll do next? Their perceived level of self-importance is astounding and they call me narcissistic and arrogant!
The small ginger scurried to the second floor, and for all her surveillance, she never once noticed that she was being followed. She turned down a hall to the left and into the girls’ bathroom. Draco had no intention of following her into the loo, obviously. Though as he walked past the still-open door, he heard her talking wildly to seemingly no one.
Ahh, so the last Weasley is a nutter. I guess if I was born to that family, I’d lose my marbles too.
Draco continued down the second floor corridor, but was stopped as a fluttering of mauve robes appeared from around the corner. He groaned internally and attempted to casually turn around, acting as if he’d forgotten something. As luck would have it, Draco was able to tuck himself into a small alcove just before none other than Gilderoy Lockhart strutted past him. He was whistling a horrid tune, but thankfully turned into his office, tightly shutting the door behind him.
The Slytherin let out a sigh of relief at not being stuck conversing with that moron. He still wasn’t sure how the Narcissus was given the job, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out why anyone would entrust a child’s education to the wanker.
Once he felt the coast was clear and Lockhart wasn’t leaving his office anytime soon, Draco turned back down the corridor toward the stairs. As he crossed back in front of the door to the girls’ bathroom, he heard the Weaselette sobbing and he heard the scratching of a quill. Witches, they’re all barmy!
The youngest Weasley was whinging about Potter—Draco heard her mention his name a couple times before she broke out into sobs again. He shook his head in irritation and continued his march back down toward the dungeons. I need to stop snooping—these girls and their feelings—best I stay clear of them all…
As Draco began to descend the stairs, Professor Snape began to climb them. He hoped Snape would simply pass him by, perhaps even a curt nod, and be on his way. Draco was not so lucky this time.
“Mr. Malfoy,” Snape drawled as he approached the step Draco was stopped on. “Did Professor Lockhart request to waste your time today as well?” Snape had a scowl plaster to his sharply-angled face.
“No, sir, I was just trying to avoid him, actually,” Draco scoffed slightly, still trying to move down another step slowly.
Snape quirked a brow at his response, but did not comment on the fact that Draco was avoiding Lockhart in the very hallway that his office was in.
“Yes, well, we can’t all be so lucky,” Snape turned to continue in the opposite direction before pausing again, “Oh, and your next Occlumency lesson will be Tuesday evening. If anyone were to ask, you are helping me teach remedial potions for those in your class who did not do so well last year—I’m sure Vincent Crabbe and Gregory Goyle will corroborate your story.”
Draco didn’t reply, but nodded quickly before continuing his descent.
…
Draco woke with a start to the chiming of the Entrance Hall’s clock striking midnight. Looking around in confusion he was in a corridor…the clock clanged again. He looked up, taking in his surroundings, and started walking down the hall—dragging his fingers across the stone walls as he went.
He stopped at the first door he came to—a girls’ lavatory.
“ Come... come to me... Let me rip you.. .Let me tear you.. .Let me kill you... ”
Draco shuddered at the hissing voice and chills shot down all of his nerve endings, setting him on edge. He felt as if he were being watched and he couldn’t shake the feeling. Draco quickly moved further down the corridor, trying to put as much space between himself and whatever had made that noise.
Turning a corner, he stopped dead in his tracks—the Weasley girl was running toward him frantically. She clearly didn’t see him, her eyes were glazed over and she was clutching a dark-colored leather bound book to her chest. The ginger kept checking behind her with her unseeing eyes.
Draco pulled back from the middle of the corridor and flattened himself against the cold stone wall as she passed. The girl made no indication that she had seen him and she made a quick turn into the girls’ bathroom, closing the door behind her.
He wasn’t sure why, but Draco suddenly felt the need to run. Something was very wrong. His legs carried him around a corner and down a set of stairs, then another, until he was back in the dungeons—chest heaving from lack of oxygen. He stopped and rested his hands on his knees, trying to catch his breath. Once his heart rate had slowed enough, Draco entered the commonroom and quietly slipped back into his dormitory.
He lay in bed the rest of the night, afraid to fall asleep and find himself back in the second floor corridor. The hissing voice played on a loop in his brain, “ Come... come to me... Let me rip you.. .Let me tear you.. .Let me kill you...