Author's note: Pretty tired, just had to write a huge essay. sorry if this chapter isn't as good as the last two.
I stepped into the boy's room with a sigh, touching the bandage on my nose. Madam Pomfrey said that the ointment had to sit for at least ten hours before the potion would really kick in. I cast a glare at the youngest Weasley, his bed right next to Potter's. I looked around and saw that the only bed available was right next to a boy with many posters of sports on his bedframe. I slumped down on my own and pulled the curtains closed. I didn't need any more interruptions. However, the universe decided not to grant me even one moment of peace, as I saw an outline pull at one of them. I rolled onto one side, away from the intruder. If it were the Weasley twins, I would be up all night. However, there was only one outline at the curtain.
"What do you want?" I hissed.
The voice hissed back, "Are you the guy who got beat up earlier?"
"So what if I am?"
I heard them (him, it's a boy's dorm) pull the curtain open. "Dude, you didn't deserve that."
I rolled over to meet his gaze. "Which one are you again?"
"Dean Thomas." He held out his hand, and I took it.
"Draco."
"Like a dragon?"
I stared at him. "Only in the reptilian sense."
"Oh. You were the one who didn't want to be a Gryffindor."
"Yeah. It's not my family's house."
"Why does that matter?"
I narrowed my eyes a bit. Did this kid not know about the link between Houses and bloodlines? "Because my family has never contained Gryffindors."
"Which house does your family 'contain'?" He held up his hands to make finger quotes.
I sat up. "They've always taken pride in being Slytherins."
"The evil house?"
I curled my legs up to meet my chest and glared at him. "Not evil. Ambitious. Cunning. Unlike this reckless place."
"We've got ambitions."
"The only ambitions I see are ones to beat me up."
Dean put his finger to his chin, then held it up as if he'd just had a genius idea. "Like football!"
"What?"
"My family has always supported West Ham. If any other team wins, or if one of my cousins decides to root for an opponent, we always make rude remarks at them during the football season."
"What's football?"
His eyes widened. "I have been waiting for someone to ask me that question ever since I found out I was a wizard."
I crinkled my forehead. "You didn't know you were a wizard from birth? Are you a muggleborn?"
"Yup!"
"Oh." I was becoming friends with more and more muggleborns. My father would not approve when he found out.
"Why do you look so disappointed? Are you one of those wizards who are all 'we have to protect the purity of wizardkind'?"
"My family is made of Purebloods, yes."
"You know, I don't know what you were raised to call it, but in the Muggle world, that's called racism."
"I thought that had to do with the color of your skin."
"Alright, maybe that was a bad choice of words. Discrimination?"
"Ah. That...makes a lot of sense."
Discrimination. Discrimination against Halfbloods, against Muggleborns.
"What about Muggles?"
"Muggles are exactly the same as you. In fact, we're more technologically advanced."
"Techno...what now?"
"You guys rely on quills to write, but check this out."
He reached into his pajamas and pulled out a wooden stick. It was painted yellow, with a sharp black tip. The tip wasn't wooden. It seemed to be made out of some sort of metal. On the other end of the stick was a large pink thing that looked like it was made of smooth paper.
"This is a pencil."
He went over to his trunk and took out a piece of paper. He held the pencil like a quill and started to write. To my surprise, the metal made marks on the paper. I watched over his shoulder as the words formed, and his hand looked more relaxed, much more than if he were holding a quill.
"What does the other side do? The pink side."
"That's an eraser."
"An...eraser? What does it erase?"
He flipped the pencil over and brought the pink end to the end of his most recent word. "Sorry if I get shavings on your bed."
He started rubbing the eraser on the word, and it faded away, slowly disappearing.
"That's magic. Muggles have magic?"
"Nope. Just graphite and rubber."
"Can I try?"
"Sure." He handed the pencil over to me. It was incredibly light, much more than the feathered quills we used in class. Much better balanced too. I started writing, my words a bit shakier than usual with the knowledge that I had never written with this thing before. I flipped it over, noticing that the eraser had blackened at the tip, as if it had been burnt. I rubbed it over my pencil markings and the started fading away, bit by bit, till there was nothing left.
"This is amazing. Why have wizards never used these?"
He held up a finger, about to explain, but his expression slowly slided into one of confusion. "I...don't know. Your entire civilization seems to be stuck in the 1800's."
"I should probably ask Professor Sn-" I halted myself before saying "Snape". I had almost forgotten that I wasn't a Slytherin. "...McGonagall."
"I'm not sure if she knows the answer either."
I peered out from beyond the curtain to notice that the sky was slowly getting brighter. "We should probably get to bed."
He yawned. "I had so much fun talking to you, I didn't notice how late it was getting."
"Or rather, how early."
"Yeah. That too."
He walked back to his own bed and crawled back under the covers. I laid back down and stared at him. I may have made a few enemies today, but at least I had also made a few friends. Maybe Gryffindor wouldn't be so bad after all.
