When I woke up, I was breathing heavily.
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking it all over.
Mudblood. Malfoy had called me a mudblood for so many years simply because he thought that muggles had dirty blood. He had been taught that non-pure people had blood that was black and dirty, not red and clean like his own. He had believed that.
I was itching to find Malfoy, to tell him about the dream I'd had. I would need Harry's invisibility cloak to get into Slytherin's common room, but I knew that it was under his bed, in the boys dormitory. No way was I going to sneak into the boys dormitory at some ungodly hour on a Sunday morning, and start rummaging through the junk under Harry's bed.
Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was three thirty in the morning. Great. I had a minimum of about six hours to wait until Harry woke up. Then I would have to wait until he went down to breakfast so I could sneak in and steal the cloak. By that time, I might as well just go and find Malfoy and talk to him, without having to sneak anywhere.
I glared at my clock, as though the whole predicament was its' fault.
Crookshanks began to make his way gamely up my quilt, before coming to rest heavily on my stomach. He purred loudly as I scratched behind his ears.
After about fifteen minutes of petting Crookshanks and staring at my ceiling, I decided to get up and go down to the common room.
I curled up on a lounge in front of the dying fire, a book in hand, and read until dawn, with Crookshanks asleep in my lap.
---
By six o'clock, I decided that the Great Hall should be open for breakfast. I left Crookshanks on the lounge, and made my way down to the hall.
It was almost entirely unoccupied, save for one person, who wasn't eating.
Draco Malfoy was sitting alone at the Slytherin table, staring into space. He didn't have any food on his plate, I noticed, and he looked like he hadn't slept well.
I plucked up my courage and walked over to him.
"Malfoy?"
He looked up quickly, and then looked away again.
"What do you want?"
Slowly, I sat down opposite from him. Slytherin table or not, I didn't feel like I had the energy to stand up to deliver my speech.
"I had another dream last night."
"How fascinating."
He acted as though he hadn't noticed I was sitting there, and he instead stared over my shoulder at the far wall.
"This one was actually kind of relevant" I swallowed. "I, um, I saw your father teaching you about mudbloods."
Malfoy's eyes shot up suddenly, and he looked like he was about to say something when I interrupted.
"He told you muggles had dirty blood. Black blood, even. That's why you called us mudbloods."
I searched his face, looking for even the vaguest sign of emotion. He closed his eyes.
"He was lying, wasn't he?"
I pulled the band-aid off my thumb, roughly, making sure the small cut was re-opened. A small drop of blood began to well up around the cut. I could sense that he had opened his eyes and was watching me.
"Yes. He was lying. He wanted you to hate muggles, Malfoy! He told you everything he could to make you hate them. And ... and it worked."
Malfoy's fist suddenly hit the table with alarming speed. I jumped, startled by the sudden movement. His other hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. He shook it roughly and raised his voice at me.
"So what does this mean?" He was close to yelling, now. "Is this supposed to mean my blood is only as good as some ... some ... muggle?!"
I angrily yanked my hand away and shouted right back.
"Yes! It means you're no better than anybody else! Malfoy blood or not, you're no better than me or Ron or Harry or anybody!"
We glared at each other for a moment before I swung my legs over the bench and started to stand up.
"Wait ... please don't go."
I turned around. Malfoy's face was contorted with reined-in emotion and his voice sounded strangled. He swallowed, and gestured to my hand.
"Explain?"
---
"So you mean, everybody has the same blood?"
About an hour later I was sitting with Malfoy in the library, quietly explaining to him bout bloodlines.
"Yup. Everybody has the same blood. Its always red and it's always the same. Doesn't matter what family you come from, if you're magical or non-magical. It's always the same."
I had been thinking about explaining blood types to him, but figured it best not to confuse him further. For the first time in the time I had known him, he seemed to be actually interested in me teaching him.
"Always the same. So, for example, you and I? We have the same blood?"
I nodded. "Exactly."
"So ... you're not really a mudblood, then."
"No. I'm not."
"Oh."
Malfoy cleared his throat and tapped absently on the tabletop with two of his fingernails.
"Well, then, I suppose I ... I suppose that means I owe you an apology."
I smiled a little. I could tell from his pained expression that these words were costing him.
"I'm ... I'm sorry, Hermione."
My eyes widened slightly. I hadn't really expected him to apologize anyway, and he had called me by my first name. I was truly shocked. I was tempted to accept his apology, but...
"Well, I suppose I should really forgive you. You didn't know my blood wasn't, you know, made of mud. But you still knew it was insulting and you called me that anyway-"
"Yes, I know. I thought it was insulting in the same way calling you 'bush head' would have been insulting. I didn't know it was an insult in itself."
I bristled at the reference to my hair, but said nothing. Malfoy smirked.
"Oh come on, Granger. Can't you see I'm innocent for once?"
Back to last names, then. I wondered if his calling me Hermione had been merely a slip of the tongue. I sighed.
"Alright. But if you ever call me that again I swear..."
Malfoy started to laugh, softly. It wasn't the malicious laugh he usually used when somebody was in pain or he thought he had cracked a particularly amusing joke. It was a different laugh, one I had never heard before.
"Alright, alright. I won't call you a mudblood ever again. Deal?"
He held out his hand for me to shake. I looked down at it suspiciously, and then took it.
"Deal."
I stared at the ceiling for a moment, thinking it all over.
Mudblood. Malfoy had called me a mudblood for so many years simply because he thought that muggles had dirty blood. He had been taught that non-pure people had blood that was black and dirty, not red and clean like his own. He had believed that.
I was itching to find Malfoy, to tell him about the dream I'd had. I would need Harry's invisibility cloak to get into Slytherin's common room, but I knew that it was under his bed, in the boys dormitory. No way was I going to sneak into the boys dormitory at some ungodly hour on a Sunday morning, and start rummaging through the junk under Harry's bed.
Glancing at the clock, I saw that it was three thirty in the morning. Great. I had a minimum of about six hours to wait until Harry woke up. Then I would have to wait until he went down to breakfast so I could sneak in and steal the cloak. By that time, I might as well just go and find Malfoy and talk to him, without having to sneak anywhere.
I glared at my clock, as though the whole predicament was its' fault.
Crookshanks began to make his way gamely up my quilt, before coming to rest heavily on my stomach. He purred loudly as I scratched behind his ears.
After about fifteen minutes of petting Crookshanks and staring at my ceiling, I decided to get up and go down to the common room.
I curled up on a lounge in front of the dying fire, a book in hand, and read until dawn, with Crookshanks asleep in my lap.
---
By six o'clock, I decided that the Great Hall should be open for breakfast. I left Crookshanks on the lounge, and made my way down to the hall.
It was almost entirely unoccupied, save for one person, who wasn't eating.
Draco Malfoy was sitting alone at the Slytherin table, staring into space. He didn't have any food on his plate, I noticed, and he looked like he hadn't slept well.
I plucked up my courage and walked over to him.
"Malfoy?"
He looked up quickly, and then looked away again.
"What do you want?"
Slowly, I sat down opposite from him. Slytherin table or not, I didn't feel like I had the energy to stand up to deliver my speech.
"I had another dream last night."
"How fascinating."
He acted as though he hadn't noticed I was sitting there, and he instead stared over my shoulder at the far wall.
"This one was actually kind of relevant" I swallowed. "I, um, I saw your father teaching you about mudbloods."
Malfoy's eyes shot up suddenly, and he looked like he was about to say something when I interrupted.
"He told you muggles had dirty blood. Black blood, even. That's why you called us mudbloods."
I searched his face, looking for even the vaguest sign of emotion. He closed his eyes.
"He was lying, wasn't he?"
I pulled the band-aid off my thumb, roughly, making sure the small cut was re-opened. A small drop of blood began to well up around the cut. I could sense that he had opened his eyes and was watching me.
"Yes. He was lying. He wanted you to hate muggles, Malfoy! He told you everything he could to make you hate them. And ... and it worked."
Malfoy's fist suddenly hit the table with alarming speed. I jumped, startled by the sudden movement. His other hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist. He shook it roughly and raised his voice at me.
"So what does this mean?" He was close to yelling, now. "Is this supposed to mean my blood is only as good as some ... some ... muggle?!"
I angrily yanked my hand away and shouted right back.
"Yes! It means you're no better than anybody else! Malfoy blood or not, you're no better than me or Ron or Harry or anybody!"
We glared at each other for a moment before I swung my legs over the bench and started to stand up.
"Wait ... please don't go."
I turned around. Malfoy's face was contorted with reined-in emotion and his voice sounded strangled. He swallowed, and gestured to my hand.
"Explain?"
---
"So you mean, everybody has the same blood?"
About an hour later I was sitting with Malfoy in the library, quietly explaining to him bout bloodlines.
"Yup. Everybody has the same blood. Its always red and it's always the same. Doesn't matter what family you come from, if you're magical or non-magical. It's always the same."
I had been thinking about explaining blood types to him, but figured it best not to confuse him further. For the first time in the time I had known him, he seemed to be actually interested in me teaching him.
"Always the same. So, for example, you and I? We have the same blood?"
I nodded. "Exactly."
"So ... you're not really a mudblood, then."
"No. I'm not."
"Oh."
Malfoy cleared his throat and tapped absently on the tabletop with two of his fingernails.
"Well, then, I suppose I ... I suppose that means I owe you an apology."
I smiled a little. I could tell from his pained expression that these words were costing him.
"I'm ... I'm sorry, Hermione."
My eyes widened slightly. I hadn't really expected him to apologize anyway, and he had called me by my first name. I was truly shocked. I was tempted to accept his apology, but...
"Well, I suppose I should really forgive you. You didn't know my blood wasn't, you know, made of mud. But you still knew it was insulting and you called me that anyway-"
"Yes, I know. I thought it was insulting in the same way calling you 'bush head' would have been insulting. I didn't know it was an insult in itself."
I bristled at the reference to my hair, but said nothing. Malfoy smirked.
"Oh come on, Granger. Can't you see I'm innocent for once?"
Back to last names, then. I wondered if his calling me Hermione had been merely a slip of the tongue. I sighed.
"Alright. But if you ever call me that again I swear..."
Malfoy started to laugh, softly. It wasn't the malicious laugh he usually used when somebody was in pain or he thought he had cracked a particularly amusing joke. It was a different laugh, one I had never heard before.
"Alright, alright. I won't call you a mudblood ever again. Deal?"
He held out his hand for me to shake. I looked down at it suspiciously, and then took it.
"Deal."