Draco and the Mudblood
Draco's POV
AGE SEVEN
"Mudbloods, Draco. The plague on the wizarding world. Respectable wizards, pure-bloods, like us, we've worked hard over centuries to practise magic without fear. Generations of us have suffered. We were hunted to the brink of extinction simply for existing." My father told a rapt seven-year-old version of myself. He continued his rant with venom. "But Mudbloods," he spat, "Mudbloods, Draco, don't deserve to be called wizards. Their ancestors never sacrificed themselves for magic. They have no claim to it. They will always be inferior to us. Remember, Draco, Mudbloods are scum. Nothing more."
A loud crash emanated from one of the upstairs rooms, followed by shrieks of fury from my mother and squeals of apology and pain from the house-elf. My father's face clouded with anger. "DOBBY!" he bellowed, tearing from the room brandishing his wand. More squeals from the elf. I sighed, pity for the helpless creature flooding my mind. Why didn't my parents realise the suffering Dobby was going through?
Hermione's POV
AGE SEVEN
"Mummy! The hamster's gone mad!" I screamed, bursting into the kitchen with Fluffles tearing around inside my sleeve. Gently, she coaxed him out with food, but he still ran around like a mad thing. I started to cry, terrified that my precious Fluffles was ill. "Stop it, Fluffles!" I sobbed. And he did. I was so surprised that I stopped crying, and just gaped at the hamster, who was now sitting in my mother's palm, washing his face. I looked up at my mother. She smiled. "How come he stopped so suddenly?" I asked, confused. She shook her head, just as bewildered as me.
"I don't know sweetie. Maybe it was magic."