Detentions
Harry, Hermione, and Ron spent some time with Hagrid– he was growing massive pumpkins for the Halloween feast– before Ron went to go get a new wand with his parents. Hermione and Harry finished up their homework while he was gone before chatting a bit about comparing the muggle world to the magical world. Ron returned with a new wand and a broad smile.
As soon as Draco Malfoy had changed out of his Quidditch robes into his casual robes, he was dragged off to Professor Chase’s classroom. There he organized her bookshelves by alphabet, author, and color. It took many tries and a chart of Greek or English before she deemed it acceptable. He then washed the blackboard by hand as he watched her shift a few books around on the organized shelves until she decided it was perfect. He then washed the desks, re-ordered them and straightened them and the chairs to the exact centimeter until he was released for lunch.
After lunch Professor Chase swooped him and dragged him back to her office.
“Why is there still more?” Draco groaned. Professor Chase raised an eyebrow at him.
“Have you learned what you did wrong?”
Draco scoffed. “I called Granger a filthy Mudblood.”
“You don’t sound sorry,” Professor Chase said with a warning to her tone. Draco huffed, but he refused to answer.
Professor Chase narrowed her eyes.
“Write me an essay on the history of the term Mudblood, what the original context was, how its use has evolved, and its impact on today and why it is a terrible word in all forms. I want at the least three body paragraphs, an introduction and conclusion paragraph, each paragraph no less than seven sentences. You have until dinner. Make it good and you gain bonus points to your final grade, if it’s bad you will be docked two hundred house points.”
Draco gaped at her. “What? Two hundred?”
“Get to it, all books you will need will be on shelf nine, level three.” She slapped parchment, ink, and a quill in front of him. Then she walked to her desk and began to work on something Draco couldn’t see.
Draco refused to move for half an hour. She glanced up.
“Fifty points from Slytherin,” she said as she continued on whatever she was working on.
He raced to the bookshelf.
Harry and Ron both walked to lunch in a gloom after Professor McGonagall had informed them of their respective detentions. Award polishing with Filch for Ron and something with Lockhart for Harry. Neither were looking forward to it.
“Wanna trade?” Harry asked.
“Not on your life,” Ron said, taking the lesser of two evils.
Just before dinner, Draco placed his finished essay on Professor Chase’s desk. His hands were cramped and stained with in and the shelf he’d just organized was in disarray. But he was finished before the deadline.
Professor Chase's eyes flicked up to him. She took the essay and gestured for him to sit. He did, stretching his hands as he waited for her verdict.
A few moments later, she began making marks in red. Draco’s jaw clenched. The minutes dragged on as she read. He ended up tracing the patterns in the wood of the desks, getting distracted. He jumped when the essay was set back in front of him gently. He glanced up at Professor Chase.
“Go to dinner,” she said, before walking away. Draco scrambled out of the classroom. As he walked, he looked down at the parchment. Most of the corrections were for grammar and a date being off by a year. An E was labeled on the top and circled. Draco gave himself a self-satisfied nod and a smile. Even when the topic was stupid he still did wonderful.
Professor Jackson was waiting for him when he left dinner. He was taken to his office and sat down. Draco looked around a moment, before freezing, heart leaping to his throat. Draped behind Professor Jackson’s chair was a massive– and Draco means massive– dog. It opened one lava-red eye and huffed, giving Draco a brief glimpse of its razor sharp teeth before it shifted and settled back down into a doze.
“Isn’t she adorable,” Professor Jackson said as he walked over to sit down, giving the beast a scratch. She leaned into it as her tail wagged, causing the stone floor to creak.
“That’s… that’s a hellhound, isn't it?” Draco asked faintly. Professor Jackson smiled.
“Yes! Very good. But we’re not here to talk about Mrs. O’Leary.”
He pulled away from ‘Mrs. O’Leary’. A serious look pulled on his features.
“You just came from detention with Annabeth, what did she have you work on?”
“I, uh… I cleaned and did an essay?”
“What was the essay on?”
“The history of the term Mudblood.”
“And what did this teach you?”
Draco sighed heavily, rolling his eyes again. “Not to say Mudblood.”
“Why?”
Draco paused. He looked up at Professor Jackson. He looked completely serious.
“What?”
“Why? What did you learn when researching for your essay? Why shouldn’t you use that word?”
Draco opened his mouth, and paused. He pulled his essay out again, skimming his work.
The memory of how he felt while writing the stupid essay returned. He felt frustrated. That it was unfair. That he shouldn’t have to do that. He remembered how his stomach dropped when he read about the Witch Hunts. About the deep and bloody history of that term. How it was tied to prejudice and murder and terror.
Mudblood began as a muggle term. Filthy blooded, those who would be damned by the Chritian God for the offense of being born with an ability they didn’t choose. During the witch burnings it was a way for purebloods to label muggleborns, because they believed that muggleborns could lead the witch hunters to them. They left muggleborns and halfbloods at the mercy of their burnings.
Most of them were children and women.
Purebloods kept referring to muggleborns as mudbloods out of paranoia, before it changed to prejudice. Voldemort was not the first to attempt to purge muggleborn from the world. Lord Varon, an old pureblood extremist around the time of the Salem Witch Trials, had wiped out a generation of muggleborns.
It was… horrifying to read.
Draco set the essay back down. He scuffed his shoe. Professor Jackson simply looked at him expectantly.
“It… I shouldn’t use it because it’s a slur. Because the history behind- that word. It’s… painful. It’s differentiating. Oppressing… fear-mongering.” Murdering, he couldn’t say.
“Correct,” Professor Jackson said softly. “Will you be using it again?”
Draco thought for a long, hard minute. What would his father say? His mother?
“No,” he replied in a small voice. Professor Jackson smiled and set down a bowl of candy, sliding it over to him. All of it was blue, for some odd reason, but Draco didn’t really care as he munched on some chocolate.
Draco learned that Mrs. O’Leary was a wonderfully good girl.