Scarlet Poison Masquerades

I do not own any of the characters, franchises or concepts you may recognize. The passage in italics is a direct quote from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, page 473. Thanks for reading!

Blood.

It was everything and nothing, she thought dizzily as Bellatrix drew the knife across her neck.

So strange, how familiar her own blood seemed to her. God knows it has been spilled before.

'Drop your wands, or we'll see exactly how filthy her blood is.'

But then came the realization that she was not the only one bleeding.

Bellatrix's hand, pierced by a shard of glass, was bleeding, and as the chandelier fell, Hermione's last thought was that she couldn't tell one from the other.

She thought often of that day, later, amidst the chaos and triumph and terrible, terrible sadness.

She thought of how it was everything in the world, and nothing at all, and she though how strange it was that it was chosen to be the divider of every living thing on the planet.

She had lived her whole life in fear, almost shame of the blood that ran through her veins, because she knew it was enough to get her killed. She longed to know, what made it any different, why when someone called her Mudblood she felt as if poison were racing through her veins.

And it's easy to see that it didn't make any difference, for you and me. But in Hermione's mind was always that doubt, that knowledge that she had to work a little bit harder, go a bit farther, than the others. Lily Evans felt it too.

So did every other child introduced to this magical world, yearning to prove themselves, working a little bit harder than the rest, and falling a lot farther when they failed.

But maybe that knowledge of being different was what tied them so closely to the magical world.

And every Muggleborn child eventually came to terms with the fact that it's the same magic, the same power, the same blood that runs through the Wizarding World's veins.

Because be it magical or muggle, Black or Granger, when blood is spilled it is red. Your name, your kin, your legacy- and the name of the blood you so proudly proclaim as pure doesn't matter.

The life-blood of the heart is red, and in the end there is no difference, after all.

A/N: Hi there. It's me, LeviosaLove, with yet another collection of loosely related, introspective lyrical mumbo-jumbo now focusing on: Blood. It's a concept that is dramatized in HP (Pureblood, mudblood, etc.) but actually is a true prejudice in our world today. It's tough to think, when you're as lucky and sheltered as you are (or, at least I am) that something so terrestrial, so painfully human, animal even, such as blood could decide your fate, but it has in the past and will continue to. The next one will likely be focused around the Blacks. Oh, and this particular piece is also published in my other collection, Names. As always, thanks for reading!

Love, Leviosa