"Inferiority complex!" she shouted.

"Yes." Draco replied calmly. "I think that's your issue."

"Inferiority complex!" she shouted yet again, flabbergasted by his brand of reasoning.

He sighed, and spoke with a voice that would be used to explain to a stubborn three-year old that one plus one does, in fact, equal two.

"Yes, Granger, an inferiority complex. An inferiority complex, in the fields of psychology and psychoanalysis, is a feeling that one is inferior to others in some way. It is often unconscious, and is thought to drive afflicted individuals to overcompensate, resulting either in spectacular achievement or extreme antisocial-"

"I know what an inferiority complex is, Malfoy!" she snarled.

He replied sarcastically, "Really? With that astounding display of repeating 'inferiority complex' over and over, I never would have thought it!"

"Shut it, gel-head. What in Merlin's name makes you think I have an inferiority complex?"

"Simple." He answered. "Most witches or wizards, even if they were muggleborns, would have realized by now that house elves are happy serving us! We don't slave or imprison them brutally, like you make it sound. They have food, clothing, and work for them to do. They can't survive on their own, Granger. They have powerful magic, true, but they're at loss at how to use it for their own devices."

"Dobby can use his magic just fine-" Hermione started heatedly.

Draco held up his hand.

"I'm getting to that part. Anyway, you find this one little freak in the bunch, and you decide that every other house elf would be happier free.

It didn't occur to you that Dobby had wanted to be free from the beginning, when none of the other house elves did, did it?
It didn't occur to you that you might have been wrong when you saw how that elf of Crouch's was distraught at being sacked? No.
You know why you refused to consider that option? Because you are just like Dobby.
You're both the freaks in the bunch. You think that by getting good grades and being smarter than everyone else will prove something. But deep inside, you know that it won't.
No matter how good you are, you'll always be a mudblood. And no matter how much Dobby gets paid, or how many tea cozies he wears, he'll always be a mudblood.

You simply refused to see this side of the argument. Then you go and berate others for being judgmental. How hypocritical is that?"

Hermione sat stunned for a few seconds, then exploded,
"I'm trying to get the same rights for house elves as people, you twit! Not force them out of servitude if they'd rather not! But they need to be exposed to their options before they can decide, don't you think?
Most people are unwilling to let go of their elves, so I had to take some drastic measures! I didn't do it because of an inferiority complex! I did it because I have a heart!
And stop blaming your insecurities on my blood! There are things we're better at than each other, and blood has nothing to do with it! Your blood and mine are equal!" she was breathing heavily now.

"I'm not your blood equal!" Draco gasped. "My blood is much better than yours! You have a low, low, low opinion of the pureblood wizarding race and the magical world in general if you think they're your equals!"

"Oh, this is rich, coming from Ferret-Boy, the Bouncing Wonder! You're proof that evolution can go in reverse!"

"Don't talk about evolution to me, Mudblood! If we were to kill everybody who hates you and your know-it-all attitude, it wouldn't be murder! It would be genocide! You wouldn't even give us a chance to evolve!"

"God, Malfoy, your puny little brain wouldn't evolve no matter how much time I gave you! You couldn't pour water out of a boot with instructions on the heel!"

"Granger, if I gave you a penny for every reasonable thought you had, I'd get change!"

"If brains were taxed, you'd get a rebate, Malfoy!" she snarled.

"What's a rebate? He asked curiously.

Hermione's laugh was slightly hysterical.

"See? You're going to go through life not knowing about anything but your sheltered little life you lead, and you know what? You're still going to hold on to those precious 'standards' of yours until you're dead, not realizing what an idiot you were!"

"I believe in respect for the dead, Mudblood. In fact, I could only respect you if you WERE dead; because that would mean you finally realize that you and your kind are dirtying up this world." He sneered.

Hermione's eyes flashed.

"So enlighten me, Malfoy. What exactly makes my blood dirty? Because I was given birth to by Muggles, and you think their blood is dirty?"

"Yes." He answered simply. "Your blood is tainted by Muggles. You're not worthy of magic."

"Magic chooses who it infests, and it chose me, so don't you dare tell me I'm unworthy. And how is my blood tainted?" she hissed. "D'you think it's made out of dirt? D'you think its brown?"

"Probably," He drawled. "Maybe nasty little spiders crawl around in it too." He smirked.

Hermione whipped out her wand and muttered under her breath. A small silver knife appeared on the table before them. He jumped back when she thrust it at him. Was she trying to murder him?

"Here." She spat. "Let's see what your blood looks like."

Draco stared, openmouthed at her.

"I'm not going to mutilate myself for a mudblood." He said disgustedly. Then he smirked. "Though I can understand your desire to see clean blood, which is so different from yours."

"Do you know what your blood looks like, Malfoy?" she asked him in a low voice.

"Of course: nothing like yours."

Without a word, she brought the knife down on the skin a little below her wrist.

He watched transfixed, wanting to see what came. He had never seen anyone but his own and his mother's blood.

A pale pink gash appeared. Suddenly, blood streamed out, coating her pale skin.

A quick wave of her wand and the skin re-healed, but the blood stayed on her arm and the table, where it had dripped.

She held out her knife to where he was staring icily at her arm. There was no noise in the library except for the occasional rustle of a page by Madame Pince that carried across the library.

"That's what my blood looks like. Show me that yours is different."

Malfoy opened his mouth to respond, but was cut off by a soft ringing. He felt around inside his robes and pulled out a cell phone.

Hermione's mouth dropped open.

"A … cell phone?" she asked hesitantly. "I didn't know you knew about cell phones! And besides, Professor Dumbledore banned students from using Muggle technology at Hogwarts!"

Draco sneered at her.

"There are a lot of things you don't know about me, Granger. I had this owled from the Manor yesterday. And what do I care what that old coot says? He doesn't even know I have this! Besides, Malfoys answer to no one."

With that he flipped it open.

"Hello?"

Hermione watched as his face went from smug, to shocked, then indignation, and finally, resignation.

"Understood." He voiced glumly into the phone, and then dropped into the nearest chair.

"Who was that?" she asked.

He glared at her for a few minutes, before answering, "Dumbledore. He told me not to use the cell phone anymore."

Hermione's eyes widened and she snorted softly.

"Malfoys answer to no one, huh?"

The small smile that formed on her face broke some of the tension that had built up around them.

They continued looking at each other for a few more seconds, and then Draco stood abruptly.

"Well, I have things to do, people to see, so I'll leave you to get back to writing love letters to the Weasel, shall I?" he asked crisply, then strode out of the library.

"You do that, Ferret." She called back on his way out.

xxxxxx

That night, Malfoy tossed and turned in his bed. No matter how much he tried, he could not get to sleep.

Yanking his hand through his hair, he sighed, frustrated, and quietly swung his legs over the side of his bed. He tapped his wand on his wrist four times and small glowing numbers appeared over his hand.

2:26 A.M.

He stole stealthily away from the Slytherin common room and ran up the stairs until he reached the 7th floor. There, at the end of the hallway, was a small, dark door with a brass doorknob.
He twisted it open and headed straight for the lemon meringue that was sitting on the squat table, as he knew it would be.

He had discovered this room in his fourth year, and was horrified to find that the group called 'Dumbledore's Army' had been using it as their headquarters.
Even though the room was not his, he viewed it as an invasion of his privacy and another reason to hate them all. Sighing, he put down his fork and headed over to the window sill.

He couldn't stop thinking about his day in the library.

'That's what my blood looks like.' She had said. 'Show me that yours is different."

He thought back to when he was younger, and Lucius had demanded a particularly fierce whipping because he had talked back in front of company
His mother had snuck up to his room later that evening and wiped off the blood and applied ointment to his back. Something that Lucius would punish her for later when he found out.

Even now, Draco could see the blood on the cloth… and it was the same as hers.

Their blood was red, it was thick… and both sparkled with the magic that was infused in them.

Running his hand along the edge of a small, grubby-looking diary, he flipped it open. He saw no new entries, so, turning to the third marked off section, he picked up a quill and began to write.