7. The Mudblood

It had become a tradition, Callie and her father getting ice cream whenever she went back to Hogwarts. They'd done so after the Christmas and Easter holidays, and again before he dropped her off at the train this morning.

"Stay safe," David told her as they hugged goodbye. "And try not to worry. Nowhere in wizarding Britain is as safe as Hogwarts."

"Yeah but that didn't stop Quirrell," Callie reminded him. "Or the other."

"I imagine security measures will have been upgraded, after last spring." He put a reassuring hand on her shoulder and added, "It'll be all right."

"I know," Callie said. Though she was still apprehensive about going back to school, considering one of her professors could turn out to be a murderer.

"Love you," David said with a smile.

"Love you, too." She boarded the train and walked along until she found Tracey sharing a compartment with a tiny red-headed girl, but the two didn't seem to be paying any attention to one another. "Hey," Callie greeted.

"Hey!" Tracey replied with a smile. "How was your summer?"

"Oh, thrilling," Callie said sarcastically. "All my old friends seem to hate me now."

"Why?"

Callie sat down and kicked her leg up on the seat across from her. "Because I'm a boarding school snob," she said. "Apparently."

"Hmph," Tracey snorted. "Peasants."

As the two caught up, ignoring the red-head, eventually the train began to move. Sometime later, a girl with bushy brown hair came into the compartment, sitting beside the red-head with an exasperated look.

"I've been up and down the train twice and I didn't see them anywhere!" she told the red-head miserably.

"They've got to be somewhere," the red-head said. "Did you ask Fred and George, or Percy?"

"They haven't seen them since King's Cross," the brunette replied.

"Who are you looking for?" Callie asked.

The brunette seemed surprised that Callie had spoken to her, but she said, "Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

"Haven't seem 'em," Callie said. "You're one of Harry's friends, right? Harmony?"

"Hermione," the brunette corrected.

Callie held out her hand for a shake. "Callie Warbeck," she said. "We had Potions together last year."

"Yeah. Nice to meet you officially." Gesturing to the red-head, she said, "This is Ginny Weasley, Ron's sister."

Callie introduced Tracey, and the group exchanged awkward handshakes and engaged in polite conversation for a while. But Hermione was still on edge about her missing friends.

"What if something's happened to them?" she asked, looking genuinely worried.

"They probably got to messing around and missed the train," Ginny said. "Mum and Dad'll take care of it."

How odd for Harry Potter, of all people, to go missing on the first day back to Hogwarts. Callie wondered if Hermione was thinking of the Quirrell situation from last year.

"Surely someone would've noticed if he were..." she began, "attacked or something."

That wasn't as reassuring as she'd meant it to be, apparently. Hermione's eyes widened. "You don't think...?" she began, but sat back and swallowed hard.

"Let's just hope it's someone soft like Quirrell, if he was attacked," Tracey joked.

"Don't say that!" Hermione scolded. "Ugh, I can't believe this!"

The poor girl couldn't relax the whole way to Hogsmeade station, or when they shared a carriage to the castle, or throughout the welcome feast. From the Slytherin table, Callie could see her growing more and more anxious.

"Making friends, are we, Warbeck?" Of course, it was Pansy's grating voice that pulled Callie's attention away from the Gryffindor table.

"Oh, hell," she said, "I was hoping you'd changed schools, Parkinson."

"I was hoping you had learned to have some respect for our house. Fraternizing with the enemy? Sharing a compartment with a mudblood?"

Mudblood. Callie was all too familiar with that word after all of her research on the war. "Shut up, Pansy. Don't say that word."

Pansy was three seats away from Callie - Daphne, Blaise Zabini, and Theodore Nott were between them - but she craned her neck to look straight at Callie, wide-eyed, and chant, "Mudblood! Mudblood! Mudblood!"

The next thing anyone knew, Pansy was covered in pumpkin juice. Callie had thrown it in her face.

Blaise had caught some of the orange liquid on his robes. "God damn it, Warbeck!" he shouted.

"Next time it'll be a Fungiface potion," Callie warned, ignoring Blaise.

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If there was one thing Callie was looking forward to this year, it was having a new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Unfortunately, Callie quickly learned that Gilderoy Lockhart, the new man on the job, was just as useless as Quirrell, if not more so.

"Merlin's beard!" she exclaimed to Tracey as they headed to the dungeons after class. "Is there no one in Britain who knows anything about defense?"

"I don't think he's all that bad," Tracey argued. "He's funny." She paused. "And rather nice to look at anyway."

Callie rolled her eyes. "But he 'didn't get rid of the Bandon Banshee by smiling at her,'" she mocked. "I don't believe he got rid of her at all. Probably made it up. Oh, hey, you're alive!"

Harry Potter was coming towards them, Hermione and the red-headed boy, Ron, at his side.

"These two idiots-" Hermione began, before lowering her voice "-missed the bloody train and flew a car to school!"

"Flew a car?" Callie repeated.

"It wasn't our fault," Harry said to Hermione. "The passage was sealed."

"Yes, you've made that clear," Hermione said. "But that's no excuse for such blatant stupidity!"

Callie and Tracey exchanged glances. Watching the Gryffindor girl admonish Harry and Red was quite funny. Unfortunately the Slytherins couldn't stick around for more.

"Well, we've got to be off, we have Charms in five minutes," Callie said. "Cheerio." She and Tracey started off, and Callie called over her shoulder, "Good to see you again, Harry!"

"Surprised he came back after last year," Tracey said when they were out of earshot. "Rumor has it You Know Who is out of hiding."

"That's what I've heard," Callie said.

"Do you believe it?"

Callie hesitated, and said, "I don't know. But I guess we'll find out eventually."

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She sat in a corner of the library one day, her face scrunched up in disbelief as she read through Lockhart's book, Wanderings with Werewolves.

"Oh, you filthy liar!" she said, tossing the book away. Just at the very moment, Hermione came around a shelf and the book hit her in the shin.

"Sorry," Callie said with a wince. "All right, there?"

"Yes, no problem." Hermione reached down and picked up the book. "Not a big fan, are you?"

"He's a liar!" Callie said indignantly. "Said he fought a werewolf off with silver bullets. That's a myth! Silver does nothing to werewolves."

"Maybe he enchanted them," Hermione suggested. Her cheeks had gone pink, and Callie wondered if she was as taken with the bumbling Defense teacher as all the other girls appeared to be.

"Not you, too?" Callie said, deflated. How could such a smart girl be so foolish?

"What?" Hermione asked defensively.

"You like him?"

"No!" she replied a bit too quickly. "Not like that." Her face was now quite red.

Callie smiled. "Never mind," she said. "I heard about the other day. What Malfoy said."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Malfoy's a foul little cockroach. I keep trying not to let him get to me, but he..." She trailed off, eyeing Callie. "Wait a second," she said. "You're not friends? With him, I mean?"

Callie scoffed. "Hardly. Don't assume we're pals because we wear the same colors. I hate him."

Hermione smiled. "Well, that makes two of us. What happened between you and him?"

"He's an arse, that's what happened. He and his cronies and Parkinson. Think they're so great because they're pureblood."

"And you're not?"

"No. My mum's a muggle. I'm half-blood."

"Still better than being a 'filthy mudblood,'" Hermione said.

"To hell with that. Half my house is pure and it has some of the most incompetent prats I've ever seen. Ever met Crabbe or Goyle?"

Hermione giggled. "Yeah, I can't imagine sharing a common room with those two. Or Malfoy or Parkinson."

"That's why I'm hanging out here," Callie said. "Care to join me?"

The two girls sat and chatted for the rest of the afternoon. As it turned out, they had a lot in common. Both of them had grown up in muggle communities, so they'd shared a lot of the same childhood experiences. Hermione's mum and dad were both dentists, and she and Callie laughed together at the puzzled expressions people gave when they tried to explain their parents' professions. They also both shared a love of learning, and had been surprised to not be sorted into Ravenclaw.

"Least you got Gryffindor," Callie said. "If nothing else, I'd rather have Nearly-Headless Nick haunting my common room than the Bloody Baron."

"Speaking of Nick," Hermione said, "Have you heard that he's having a Deathday party on Halloween."

Callie did a double take. "Well, that would be the day for it, I suppose."

"No, it's his actual death day, the day he died. Five-hundredth, apparently."

"Oh, to be a fly on that wall."

"It's down in the dungeons. I don't think he'd mind if you stopped by."

They continued to discuss the upcoming soiree until a grating voice caught their attention.

"Isn't this cute," Pansy called derisively. "Half-blood and mudblood, best of friends."

"What did I tell you, pug-face?" Callie said, shooting up to her feet and aiming her wand at the girl.

"Don't you point that thing at me!" Pansy said. "Or I'll tell Snape."

"Callie don't, it's not worth it," Hermione whispered in her ear.

"Might wanna listen to the muggle-born. Much as it pains me to say it, she is smarter than you, though that's not saying a lot."

"Shove off," Callie said, flipping her the middle finger.

Pansy flashed a wicked smile. "Sure thing. Wouldn't want to ruin your little playdate." With that, she walked away with Daphne and Millicent at her heel.

Callie sighed and put her wand back into her robes. "I'll still hex her if you want," she told Hermione. "Snape's detentions aren't that bad."

Hermione shook her head. "Don't get yourself in trouble over her."

"Right. Better save it for the train home, when she won't have anywhere to run."

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After the Halloween feast, Callie wandered off to find Nearly-Headless Nick's party. It didn't take long before she came upon a corridor lined with black candles glowing blue flame. They led the way to a dungeon that was rather ghoulishly decorated and filled with hundreds of pearly white ghosts. A table of food was set up, and Callie was glad she had already eaten, as it looked disgusting.

"Live 'un!" somebody shouted, and Callie turned in the direction of the voice to find a ghost in what looked to be seventeenth-century garb pointing at her.

Beside him, a lady ghost who must've died sometime in the nineteen-twenties clapped her hands together and shrieked, "Oh, what a cute little live 'un! Look at the color in her cheeks!"

Callie didn't know if she was welcome or not; looking around the room, she didn't see Hermione, or Harry or Red. She did see one familiar face, though.

"Myrtle!" she called out.

The young ghost girl looked absolutely miserable, and Callie could've sworn she was actually producing tears. Can ghosts do that? she wondered.

Stifling her sobs, Myrtle said, "Go away! All of you are mean."

"I'm not mean, Myrtle, you know that," Callie said. "Why so sad? This is a party, isn't it?"

Hiccupping, Myrtle explained, "That awful girl called me ugly. And pimply. And fat!"

Callie rubbed at the back of her head. "Awful girl, eh? Was her name Pansy?"

"No. Hermione! What a stupid name that is!"

Callie furrowed her brow. "You must be mistaken, Myrtle," she said. "Hermione's a nice girl. She wouldn't say anything like that."

"Well she did!" Myrtle shot back. "Peeves said so."

"Peeves is a pain in the arse. He likes to stir up trouble. Everyone knows that."

Myrtle didn't look convinced.

"Listen," Callie said, "I'll come see you tomorrow and I'll bring Hermione with me. I'm sure she can explain everything."

Myrtle raised her silver-stained eyes. "You'll visit me?" she asked.

"Yes! Both of us. Now stop crying and go enjoy the party." She looked around the room and said "Look! They're playing... head... football. How fun!"

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"Probably best to just say sorry if she doesn't believe you," Callie told Hermione the next day on their way to Myrtle's toilet.

"Such as disaster," Hermione said. "I really didn't say-"

"I know."

They both slowed as they passed the spot where, just last night, somebody had attacked Mr. Filch's cat. Callie read the writing on the wall:

The chamber of secrets has been opened. Enemies of the heir, beware.

"Really think it has to do with muggle-borns?" Callie asked.

"I don't know," Hermione replied, squinting her eyes in thought. "Malfoy seems to think so."

"But who's the heir? The heir to what?"

The two girls stood and stared at the writing a moment longer, until Hermione shook her head and said, "Come on. Let's get this over with."

They entered the bathroom and Callie called out for Myrtle, who shot up from a toilet in the back.

"Hi, Callie!" the ghost greeted cheerfully. Then she turned her attention to Hermione, "You."

"Hello, Myrtle," Hermione said nervously.

Callie looked between them, and gestured for Hermione to speak.

"I'm really sorry about last night," Hermione said. "I promise I never called you ugly. Peeves made that up."

"What about pimply? Fat?" Myrtle said.

"I didn't say that either."

"See?" Callie cut in. "Told you it was all just Peeves messing with you."

Myrtle looked torn, and Callie thought the ghost might need a little more convincing. Then she stuck her chin up in the air, looking straight at Hermione, and said, "Well, you have frizzy hair!" With that she turned away from them and flew off. They heard a splash as she dove down the toilet.

Callie and Hermione exchanged a glance. "Guess it went better than I thought it would," Callie said.

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"Filthy, rotten traitor! Palling around with a dirty mudblood?"

"I'll pal around with whoever I want, Malfoy," Callie shot back. "What do you care, anyway?"

"You're a disgrace to wizardkind!" the blond boy said. "An embarrassment."

"Come off it, you really believe that pureblood dung? You go to school with muggle-borns, you know they're just as good as people from magical families."

"They're swine!"

Callie rolled her eyes.

"Blood's diluted," he went on. "Somewhere down the line, the magic was so weak it died out. Probably too much mixing with muggles."

"You watch yourself," Callie warned.

He paid her no attention. "Nature chose to cut them out of our world, the weaklings. Such ancestries didn't have what it took to practice magic. But certain mutants slipped through the cracks - muggle-borns, like Granger."

"So she's a weakling?" Callie said. "She does magic better than any one of us. She's tops in our class."

"She's a freak. A mutant."

"You're a mutant."

Malfoy looked offended but he didn't respond right away. Callie stood up and turned toward the girls dormitory, but paused when the boy said, "Suppose I shouldn't make a big thing out of it. Granger won't last long anyway."

She wanted to ignore him, but he'd hooked her. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I told you, mudbloods will be next."

"Why?"

"'Enemies of the heir, beware.' Don't you know what that means, Warbeck?"

"No?"

He smiled devilishly at her and said, "The heir of Slytherin."