"Dirt In My Veins"
Short Story
Hermione's slim fingers gently glided across the puddle. She was sitting on the sidewalk, her feet propped to the side and she didn't care if people stared. Hardly anyone passed by and even if they did, they wouldn't say anything. She remembered how she tripped just a few moments ago, one of her muddy boots slipping to one side, leaving her on the dirty ground.
No matter, though, she enjoyed the unusual tranquility. She enjoyed how the ground was filthy and the water was rushing down into the gutter in the streets. There had been a dent on this side of the road that was filled with rainwater. Hermione remembered distinctively how she looked outside her window and watched the droplets fall in the shallow pool. One drop of water after another, how each one took turns but was rushing to it at the same time.
It was a dirty, muddy puddle that she was dipping her fingers into. Clumps of mud mixed with the water, forming a foggy brown color. She didn't mind how it would disgust her, normally, because she wasn't aware of it. Hermione was looking into the puddle and it was no surprise to find her reflection looking back at her. The memories of Hogwarts just kept flooding back to her.
The memories weren't warm and loving; they were the filled with hatred and wanting to forget. She wondered if this was how Draco always viewed her. There was her reflection in the puddle of mud. When he looked at her, did he see that unpleasant dirty water filling her eyes and veins? The thoughts made Hermione tremble. Mudbloods was the term Draco always used to hurt her. So this substance, mud, was what all prejudice witches and wizards compared her as?
Mudbloods are lower then scum, useless in every way, and much forgotten. Mudbloods were a disgrace to the magical world. Mudbloods were looked down upon. Mudbloods was the word that dominated Draco Malfoy's vocabulary. Mudblood was the nickname he had for her. Hermione wanted to prove Draco he was wrong, how they were not everything he thought was disgusting. She was just like Draco, they were equally the same and not one better than the other. Hermione hated the look he had whenever he said the word, like he wanted to spit afterwards. There was hatred carved into his eyes and the gaze of misunderstanding.
He wasn't aware of the damage. He wasn't aware of how he made Hermione Granger a stronger person all in all. He wasn't aware of her forgiveness she was willing to offer him. He wasn't aware of anything because he was stuck in his discriminating world. The world the Malfoy's lived in, the Malfoy Mansion, his own prison. Locked behind the invisible bars that Draco was never aware of until now. His father's wrath kept him from ever understanding anything else. If only Draco had stopped listening to his father's lies and notice his mistrust. If only Draco wasn't a Malfoy.
Maybe then, Draco would be sitting next to Hermione right now, both of their fingers entwined as they glide them across the dirty puddle. They would have fond memories of school and each other. They would whisper love words then laugh. They would call each other by their nicknames and look into the puddle. They would only comment about the mud and not Mudbloods because they never even heard of the word. If only Hermione wasn't a muggle born or if Draco wasn't a Malfoy then everything would have been different. Everything would have changed.
.Fin.
Short Story
Hermione's slim fingers gently glided across the puddle. She was sitting on the sidewalk, her feet propped to the side and she didn't care if people stared. Hardly anyone passed by and even if they did, they wouldn't say anything. She remembered how she tripped just a few moments ago, one of her muddy boots slipping to one side, leaving her on the dirty ground.
No matter, though, she enjoyed the unusual tranquility. She enjoyed how the ground was filthy and the water was rushing down into the gutter in the streets. There had been a dent on this side of the road that was filled with rainwater. Hermione remembered distinctively how she looked outside her window and watched the droplets fall in the shallow pool. One drop of water after another, how each one took turns but was rushing to it at the same time.
It was a dirty, muddy puddle that she was dipping her fingers into. Clumps of mud mixed with the water, forming a foggy brown color. She didn't mind how it would disgust her, normally, because she wasn't aware of it. Hermione was looking into the puddle and it was no surprise to find her reflection looking back at her. The memories of Hogwarts just kept flooding back to her.
The memories weren't warm and loving; they were the filled with hatred and wanting to forget. She wondered if this was how Draco always viewed her. There was her reflection in the puddle of mud. When he looked at her, did he see that unpleasant dirty water filling her eyes and veins? The thoughts made Hermione tremble. Mudbloods was the term Draco always used to hurt her. So this substance, mud, was what all prejudice witches and wizards compared her as?
Mudbloods are lower then scum, useless in every way, and much forgotten. Mudbloods were a disgrace to the magical world. Mudbloods were looked down upon. Mudbloods was the word that dominated Draco Malfoy's vocabulary. Mudblood was the nickname he had for her. Hermione wanted to prove Draco he was wrong, how they were not everything he thought was disgusting. She was just like Draco, they were equally the same and not one better than the other. Hermione hated the look he had whenever he said the word, like he wanted to spit afterwards. There was hatred carved into his eyes and the gaze of misunderstanding.
He wasn't aware of the damage. He wasn't aware of how he made Hermione Granger a stronger person all in all. He wasn't aware of her forgiveness she was willing to offer him. He wasn't aware of anything because he was stuck in his discriminating world. The world the Malfoy's lived in, the Malfoy Mansion, his own prison. Locked behind the invisible bars that Draco was never aware of until now. His father's wrath kept him from ever understanding anything else. If only Draco had stopped listening to his father's lies and notice his mistrust. If only Draco wasn't a Malfoy.
Maybe then, Draco would be sitting next to Hermione right now, both of their fingers entwined as they glide them across the dirty puddle. They would have fond memories of school and each other. They would whisper love words then laugh. They would call each other by their nicknames and look into the puddle. They would only comment about the mud and not Mudbloods because they never even heard of the word. If only Hermione wasn't a muggle born or if Draco wasn't a Malfoy then everything would have been different. Everything would have changed.
.Fin.