Written for Hogwarts Challenges and Assignments - Term 11, Assignment 6: Notable Witches & Wizards, Task #4: write about one of the following Muggle-born characters (Justin Finch-Fletchley) receiving prejudice or hatred for their blood status.

Warning: this fic contains bullying, descriptions of violence/physical abuse/beating.

Not Like Them

Justin knew that it was going to be a bad day when he encountered Malfoy and his cronies on the way to breakfast one morning. Crabbe and Goyle immediately blocked off the stairs with their bulky bodies while their leader stood in front of them, arms crossed. Justin knew that this didn't bode well for him — he had heard stories of Malfoy's nefarious acts towards other students — and he thought about returning to the safety of the common room just before Malfoy spoke.

"Finch-Fletchley," the blond sneered, "how nice of you to join us this morning."

"I don't want any trouble, Malfoy," Justin said quietly, cursing the fact that he had left for breakfast before most of his fellow Hufflepuffs. He had wanted to ask Professor Sprout a question about Devil's Snare before he ate some of the delicious Hogwarts food, but now, he thought he might be lucky if he even made it to breakfast. Despite being only a first-year, Malfoy had a fearsome reputation. Even older students were frightened of him.

"Trouble? There's no trouble here," Malfoy smirked. "We aren't causing trouble, are we, Goyle?"

Goyle, who was the slightly larger of his two beefy companions, only grunted. Malfoy's smirk widened.

"You see, Finch-Fletchley, you don't belong here," he drawled. "Mudbloods like you are ruining our society."

Justin didn't like the name Malfoy called him, nor the emphasis he placed on the word "our." As far as he was concerned, he had as much right to be at Hogwarts as anyone else, regardless of who his parents were.

"I got my letter, same as you," he said, reaching for his wand — not to fight, but to defend himself from whatever Malfoy might have in store for him. He was too slow, however. Malfoy had already drawn his own and shouted, "Petrificus Totalus!"

Justin felt his limbs snap together and his gaze lock straight ahead. Unable to keep his balance, he fell over, snacking his head against the stone floor. His eyes watered, but he wouldn't give Malfoy the satisfaction of making him cry. Praying that a sore head would be the worst of his injuries that day, he heard, rather than saw, the three Slytherins approach his prone form.

"What're we going to do with him?" Crabbe — he thought it was Crabbe — whispered.

He imagined Malfoy rolling his eyes as he replied, "Honestly, Crabbe, you act as though you've never done this before. Just do what you usually do."

Justin's eyes widened in panic and his heart began to beat faster when he heard Crabbe let out a sinister giggle.

"Don't worry, Mudblood. I promise it won't hurt...much," the thug said gleefully.

Crunch.

A searing pain radiated down his leg, and it was worse than anything he had ever felt before. He opened his mouth to scream, but no sound came out. All he could do was hope that the beating would be over soon.

Crunch.

Now it was his other leg that was causing him extreme agony. He could no longer control his tears, which had begun to leak from his eyes in an almost constant flow. Goyle's face loomed above him for a moment before—

Wham.

Justin felt as though the wind had been knocked out of him and he struggled to draw in air to fill his lungs.

"That's what you get for talking back," Malfoy hissed somewhere near his ear. He then proceeded to spit on him, and Justin wanted to shudder as the warm liquid hit his skin.

"That good, Malfoy?" Goyle asked.

"For now," the ringleader replied, an ominous note coloring his tone. "Anyway, let's go. I think I hear someone coming, and we need to get out of here before someone spots us."

Justin heard the trio depart and was filled with an overwhelming sense of relief, even as the pain threatened to overwhelm him.

This may have been the first time that he had been targeted for being a Muggle-born, but he knew that it wouldn't be the last.

He had a long seven years ahead of him.

Word count: 684