Hermione had spent forty-five minutes in the bathroom; she'd vomited until there was nothing left in her stomach to vomit, and then had collapsed by the toilet in a shaking, sobbing mess.

Draco Malfoy had been right all along. She was a mudblood.

Ever since her first year, Hermione had been the girl who had the correct answer. She'd spent so much time being in the right that it had never occurred to her that she may be wrong. She'd always assumed that blood purity was a silly, made-up ideal, that all students are Hogwarts were equals.

Really, she'd chosen a bad time to be wrong.

Swallowing hard, Hermione stood and walked out of the stall toward the mirrors. She inspected her face. Her skin looked normal. Perhaps she was a tad paler than usual, but she had just gotten sick. Her hair was like everyone else's hair, expect maybe a bit thicker and bushier. She had two eyes, two ears, a nose and mouth. All of these things looked so absolutely ordinary; who could have guessed that in the veins beneath all these features, impure blood was coursing through her body?

Potions was nearly over, now, and Hermione assumed that there'd be no point in returning to class. She didn't fancy being peppered with questions; she wanted no one to know of her secret shame. How could she face them now, when what she'd always believed about herself was absolutely false? And furthermore, how could have been so horribly, horribly wrong?

It was a daunting question. After taking a moment to splash water on her face, Hermione pondered it. How, precisely, could she have been misled to such a degree? It occurred to her that it was possible that the whole thing had been a fluke, a strange chemical reaction between Malfoy's blood and the parchment paper. Color returned to her cheeks as she began to devise a method of testing this theory. Of course, it was impossible to get another blood sample from Malfoy; once he knew what she was testing, she'd never hear the end about her own inferiority. Her mind began working at a million miles a minute, sorting out everyone she knew by blood. Her list of purebloods was maddeningly short; a great majority of them were Slytherins, and that was the last place she could check. Then, like a flash of lightning, she realized she had the perfect specimen before her the entire time.

--

"Ron, please? It won't hurt that bad. It's just a pinprick!"

Ron Weasley was staring at Hermione warily, cradling his right pointer finger in his left hand. He knew Hermione well enough to know that he could trust her, and yet he didn't relinquish the grip on his digit.

"Why can't you just tell me what it's for?" he asked suspiciously, keeping careful guard over his much-desired appendage.

Hermione huffed. "I already told you, Ronald! For an experiment!" She scowled at him as he continued to stare at her, untrusting. "Oh, come on, Ron! You'll barely feel it!"

Whimpering, Ron acquiesced. He shut his eyes tightly, grimacing as her let go of his finger. It shook as he held it out toward her.

Taking the pin she'd sterilized out of her bag, Hermione reached out and pricked his finger quickly, ignoring the string of curses that flew from her best friend's mouth. "There, now that wasn't so bad, was it?"

Ron opened his eyes slightly, staring down at his now sore finger. "Was too that bad." He pouted, watching as she removed a piece of parchment from the bad slung over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

"Dabbing the blood." She answered, holding on the parchment. As the red blood began to swell on the pad of Ron's pointer finger, she placed the paper on top, watching it soak up the red.

And a split second later, the same spot was blue.

"Oh…Merlin." She whispered softly, bring the paper close to her face and staring at the blue spot in horror.

Ron, who had stuck his finger in his mouth, promptly took it out again when he realized that Hermione was seriously displeased with the result of her experiment, whatever it may be. "Hermione?" he asked, "Did I do something wrong?"

She held out the parchment unsteadily. "Blue."

He nodded slowly, not comprehending her meaning. Of course it had turned blue. Didn't everyone's?

"I may be saying the completely wrong thing here," Ron started, slowly, "But…so?"

Hermione moved her gaze from the parchment to Ron's face. "You knew it would do this?"

"Yes," he answered, nodding, "that's what everyone's does."

Holding the paper and the pin in her right hand, Hermione pricked her left finger. She ignored Ron's protests, dragging her finger across the parchment's surface. Then she held it out for him, saying quietly, "Look."

Ron was initially unimpressed by the red smear on the paper, but gradually grew more and more incredulous as the small spot stayed red. He wondered what it meant, for a moment, before a realization dawned on him. His mouth fell agape as he brought his eyes to meet Hermione's. She was crying.

"Bloody hell."

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

A/N: I said I might not continue this, but I just couldn't stop thinking about it. So I figured, hey! Why not, right? Anyway, I've already written a little ahead in this story, so I have some ideas of where it might lead. I've also decided to keep these chapters very short—the next chapter's only three hundred some words. Maybe that's a bit disconcerting and choppy, but it's my story so naner naner boo boo I'll write it as I please. Reviews would be much appreciated. 