"Eat slugs, Malfoy!" You see the redhead's wand pointed in your direction. Inwardly you cringe and prepare for mortification. What is this? It doesn't come. He's on the ground, writhing and throwing up slime.
You laugh, but only because you're expected to. You don't see anything funny about this at all. No, you were too close to having that be you. You put away your wand and proceed to Quidditch practice with a memory on your mind.
"Daddy?" a blonde boy about age six is sitting on the floor next to a large leather armchair.
"Yes, Draco?" he responds without looking.
"Daddy, what's a m – mu—mudblood?" the child points to a word in a picture book, lifting it high over his head.
"Oh, them. Well, just as we are wizards, there are people who iaren't /i wizards."
"Muggles!" interjected Draco
"Yes, Muggles. Anyway, sometimes they have children that are wizards. They're called Mudbloods."
"Are we Mudbloods?" the small boy's eye's are wide.
"Oh, no, Draco. We're purebloods. We are far, far above them," the man says with a glint in his eyes.
"But why are they called that? Is their blood really muddy?" light brows furrow over grey eyes.
"Oh, no Draco, it's their blood isn't pure. You know how there's a difference in blood between bugs and birds? They both fly, but only one has good blood."
"Why do you say we are farther above them? Are we taller?"
"Some of us." Lucius Malfoy sits straighter in his chair.
"Dobby told me not to say Mudblood, Daddy. Why? Is it a bad word?" Draco looks delighted at the very idea.
"Well, only those who love Muggles think that it's a bad word. But I don't think so."
"Mudblood…" Draco looks like the word is candy in his mouth. "Daddy, are they dangerous?"
"Very," Lucius says. "In fact, just a few days ago some people in a village a few blocks down set fire to a grocery store."
"Why would they set fire to a grocery store? Are they stupid or something?" the little boy's face scrunches up as he spits out the words.
"No one said Mudbloods were more stupid than Purebloods," Lucius states.
"I hate them, Daddy," a very young Draco Malfoy says, and then he gets up and scampers out of the room. However, as he leaves, he sees Lucius' wry grin.
As you fly, you let your mind wander. Far beneath you are Potter, that Granger girl, and Weasley, still spewing up slugs. Then your eyes set on the Gryffindor Quidditch Team, who sit on the bleachers. It was hard for you to admit, but they were a pretty good team. However, you quickly shake the thought out of your head. They may be good flyers, but you are suddenly reminded about what your father said about people of Muggle descent. The difference between bugs and birds… both can fly, but they have different colored blood. And that makes all the difference in the world.