Second Year
Hermione Granger watched the animosity unfold between Slytherin and Gryffindor quidditch teams. Her face tightly pinched as she tried to contain a slew of hexes from leaving her mouth. The sight of her unruly mane almost made Draco flinch in remembered trauma.
Granger, the uppity know-it-all was the reason for his constant grief. Daily owls penned by Malfoy senior berated Draco for his inferiority and constant disgrace to the family name. If only the Gryffindor princess were knocked from her sodding pedestal Draco's jaw twitched at the nefarious thought.
The blonde boy's pureblood elitist ideals were bolstered by his father and Lucius' like-minded inner circle. Over the rest of the Summer Draco dutifully submitted to his father's whims, befriending boys of respectable breeding like Theodore Nott and Blaise Zabini.
It was a tinderbox waiting for a match, a clear divide between Slytherin green and Gryffindor red each side trussed up in their house colors like a parody of some sort of medieval battlefield. Inevitably the arsonist that sparked the wild fire was Gryffindor's golden girl herself.
"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in. They got in on pure talent." Hermione stated candidly, arms crossed in her best impersonation of Professor McGonagal. She struck a chord and the audience around them waited with baited breath.
He had had enough. Draco could no longer stand the smugness in her intonation, unable to tolerate her sanctimonious prattle any longer. The same pompous chit that never failed to raise her hand in class to boast of her intelligence and aptitude. In addition to his father's ceaseless castigation her shrill comment was his undoing. Something inside Draco cracked, and evil spilled out of it. He bore his contempt openly and through slitted eyes he strode over to confront the swot.
The lioness refused to be unnerved by Malfoy's domineering sneer. She shifted her weight slightly, ready to draw her wand at a moment's notice. Hermione had suddenly realized from the foul and blatant scorn on Malfoy's face this conversation was no longer about quidditch, but something much deeper.
"No one asked your opinion! You filthy, little mudblood!" Draco parroted his father's words with all the malice he could muster.
Hermione recoiled at the venom of Malfoy's slur, her mouth slightly agape. Draco would never forget the look of abject hurt all over her face. As soon as the mimicked words forced their way out of his mouth he knew he could never take them back. His fellow housemates encouraged his spiteful behavior, collectively laughing at the brunette girl's obvious distress. It was the first time Draco had ever called anyone that before.
Draco smugly knocked her down some, but as Hermione's honeyed eyes glazed over threatening to spill, he felt a sudden bout of remorse. Her pain left Draco feeling grimy.
An emotion he was unaccustomed to when provoking self-important Gryffindors. Before Draco could dwell on those impractical emotions, Granger's red haired lackey jumped in to defend her honor.
"You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" Ronald Weasley plucked his spello-taped wand from his robes and aimed it at Draco.
"Eat slugs!" Weasley cried angrily, firing a nasty curse at him.
Draco jumped back in alarm only to realize the spell backfired on the foolish ponce. Ron was blasted several feet back in a spectacle of light. Concerned for their fallen peer the rest of the Gryffindors swiftly ran over to huddle around Weasley.
Hermione pushed her way through the throng of people. Unceremoniously she dropped to her knees and fussed over her friend. Hermione thoroughly looked him over for any injuries in a panic.
Off course Gryffindor's princess rushed over to the aid of her weasel Draco contemplated. His face fell slightly watching her run her hands over Weaselbee. She was not concerned about hiding her panic and fear. He couldn't comprehend why someone would reveal all their thoughts and emotions so indiscreetly, her openness was as refreshing as it was foolish. Draco was jealous, another unfamiliar emotion that has niggled his newfound conscience.
His victory didn't taste sweet, it tasted just as dirty as the slur he'd hurled at Granger. This felt hollow and Draco did not like how it felt in his chest.
The Slytherins burst out into a fit of laughter at Ron's expense as the ginger began to spew out slugs, Draco forced out a short joyless laugh to keep appearances.
He unknowingly continued to hold Hermione Granger in his line of sight even as the red and gold horde dispersed. Draco still felt stained from his earlier outburst. The irony was not lost on him that at the end of their vehement exchange he was the one that felt like filth.
Hermione and Harry supported Ron's weight all the way to Hagrid's Hut. Harry assessed Hermione with silent green eyes, not yet fully acquainted with wizarding colloquialisms, but judging from his friend's crestfallen expression he could tell what Malfoy had called her was anything but pleasant. Once at Hagrids Ron's sickly face was fixed into a wooden bucket. Hermione was queasy every time he expelled one of those slimy green buggers.
"Better out 'an in… Who'd Ron trytta curse anyways?" Hagrid asked. His overgrown brows knitted together in slight disgust as he watched Ron vomit up another slug. The half giant sat himself in front of the unusually solemn trio. It was Harry who offered an explanation, Hermione was still staring at the soles of her Mary Jane's, worrying her lip to keep from quivering.
"Malfoy. He called Hermione- well… I don't exactly know what it means," Harry offered obscurely.
The degradation rushed back to Hermione and she sat up quickly. That snobby, overgrown ferret she hissed. Hermione had been well and truly hurt by Malfoy's words.
In all her time as part of the wizarding world she had never been so brazenly marginalized for her heritage and her blood. It was something she could not help, something Hermione was born with and ran through her veins and arteries. Unchanging and permanent unlike class marks. Her marks could sparkle and dazzle; they were her only form of evidence that she in fact belonged in the wizarding world, that she deserved her magic.
Inside Hermione's subconscious, her extensive and in-depth knowledge of witchcraft afforded her acceptance. Peroxide painted prick Hermione sniffed.
"He called me a mudblood," she spat disliking the feel of the word on her tongue.
"He did not!" Hagrid exclaimed, taken aback in outrage.
"What's a mudblood?" Harry asked innocently, not fully recognizing the magnitude of what Draco Malfoy had said.
"It means dirty blood. Mudblood is a really foul name for someone who's muggleborn," Hermione started her voice breaking. Her hair was buzzing with uncontrolled magic.
"Someone with non-magical parents- someone like me… It's not a term one usually hears in civilized conversation" she was nearly in tears by the time she finished.
Hermione knew Malfoy was trying to get a rise out of her, but he had dealt a low blow and worst of all the Slytherin twat knew it. Growing up Hermione had always felt odd. She was an only child that fell asleep to books about flora and fauna instead of fairy tales, she had always been fiercely independent, the other children found her to be too proper.
Her accidental bursts of magic were of no relief either. There were far too many afternoons spent by Mr. and Mrs. Granger trying to convince Hermione's teachers that it was just a trick of the light and that the book did not float itself into the little girls' hands.
When the brainy brunette played with kids her age she always spoke and carried herself like a grown-up. As Hermione got older it was enforced in her that she was just an average girl with dull looks and even duller interests. Barely worth a second glance in the eyes of her peers. So when Hermione Granger learned that she was extraordinary she lept at the opportunity to reinvent herself.
The day she secured her Hogwarts acceptance letter she made it her mission to assimilate into wizarding culture, she read all the required textbooks front to back and sideways. The bookworm spent months on end teaching herself small spells and voraciously learning all the information she could on this hidden magical world chock full of possibilities. Hermione prefers to be overprepared. And thanks to that small trait she'd inherited she was dubbed a know-it-all.
Hermione wanted to be deserving of her gifts despite just recently coming into them. It was people like Malfoy that knew how to play at her insecurities. Giving voice to her fears of unworthiness, reminding her that she does not belong and that ultimately she is not extraordinary.
Hermione kept replaying her skirmish with the youngest Malfoy. In her mind's eye she saw the blonde, aristocratic tosser maring his handsome face with an ugly glower as he called her a mudblood.
But Hermione could almost swear she saw regret in his steely eyes when he had paused in his verbal lashing. Malfoy had hesitated. What could that mean? She found herself asking. Hermione had another terrible habit of making mountains out of mole hills. She reprimanded herself for her moment of foolishness. The bushy-haired Gryffindor sensibly decided to shake off the absurd notion that Draco Malfoy had a moral compass.
Author's Note: The notorious bleeding heart and over-analytical swot we all know and love. As a fellow Virgo, Hermione holds a special place in my heart.
Please leave a review, they are always welcomed!