The smug look on Malfoy's face flickered. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy Mudblood," he spat.
Hermione wasn't sure what had happened. One moment Malfoy had answered her back and the next she was sat in Hagrid's hut, watching Ron spew slugs into a dirty, old bucket.
It hurt to know that Malfoy thought of her as one of them. She hadn't done anything truly horrible to him, sure she made a comment about his pureblood arrogant ways, but everyone did that. Being called the most insulting term that denigrated her ancestry killed her. To Hermione, her parents were the gentlest people in the world — but Draco Malfoy believed that they had created this disgusting, vile creature.
Dear Diary,
Mudblood. That's what he called me. Filthy blood, he believes I have. Surely all blood is the same? I would still be the same person if I were muggleborn, half-blood or pureblood. I'd have the same brains, I'd have the same looks and I'd definitely have the same personality. I'm pretty sure my blood is the same colour as Draco Malfoy's right? Would someone be able to tell the difference between a drop of my blood to a drop of his? I shouldn't have let it get to me, but it did. It killed me. I knew he didn't like me but I thought that was because he didn't know me. I never thought he would be so prejudiced! I never thought anyone could be so prejudiced! I thought that sort of thing belongs to the 1920's. Not nowadays. Not here in Hogwarts. The place of safety and a sanctuary for me. It doesn't feel like home tonight—there is a strange feeling, like I don't belong.
I'm going to go now, before I cry anymore. Honestly, one day I'll look back on this and think 'God Hermione, get over yourself, Draco Malfoy is not worth crying over!'
I'll speak to you tomorrow,
Hermione.
As she closed her diary, Hermione settled herself into bed. She'd stayed up later than the rest of the girls so none of them saw her cry. She didn't want to be seen as weak. She looked at her watch. 2:06am. Hermione flicked off her lamp and burrowed under the covers, hoping for any warmth they would give her. Then a small tapping noise disturbed her slumber.
Getting out of bed, Hermione noticed the small tawny owl outside her window. Tiptoeing across the floor as to not wake any of the other girls, Hermione pulled the latch open and let the small bird in. It flew straight and landed on her pillow, and the bird started to squawk.
"Shush! I can't let anybody wake! You shouldn't even be here!"
The bird looked at her in an understanding way and went quiet. Hermione hurried silently over to the bed and unhooked the letter from the bird's leg. Reaching into her trunk, she brought out a treat and fed the small owl. It fluttered its little wings and flew out the window. Hermione followed it and shut the latch tight. Slowly creeping back to her bed, she crawled under the covers, letter in hand. Opening it as quiet as she could, Hermione saw a scribbled writing that covered around 4 lines.
Hermione,
I couldn't help but think of your face after I said what I did. You didn't deserve that. Nobody does really. I need to see you; an apology over paper is not the same as an apology to the face. I really need you to meet me. How about at 3am at your portrait? Please, please let me say I'll see you there? I'll wait for you. All night.
DM.
And for some reason, Hermione rose out of her bed and descended the stairs towards the portrait.