AN: The usual disclaimer; characters don't belong to me. Oh and Dumbly's not dead. This is AU to HBP. Thanks to the four people who reviewed my other fic, View from Heaven. Thanks for adding View from Heaven as a favourite story too! (: On with the story!

Chapter Two: Buckets of Mud

The heavy oaken doors closed behind Hermione, nearly catching on her long bushy hair. She whipped her hair out just in time. Certain doors of Hogwarts were spelled to magically open and close after a person entered or exited, and the doors of the Great Hall was one of these doors. Unfortunately, it had no sense of timing, for it would swing shut almost immediately after the person had stepped through the doors. Of course, it was quite convenient for couples escaping for a secret tryst but rather regrettable for people who liked to dawdle and leisurely stroll through doors. Quite a number of girls had had their long hair caught in the doors. Students who were eating at the Hall would gawk at the trapped person, and occasionally, a particularly mean person would shout and point at the victim. An excruciatingly embarrassing experience, if you ask me.

Thankfully Hermione escaped unscathed. As she proceeded towards the Gryffindor Tower, hot tears burned her eyelids again, as she recalled the incident that caused her to act like a human hosepipe. Just two hours before, she'd been tormented by Ferret Boy and his two cronies, Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione had been in the library doing Snape's horrendously difficult essay, when the two thugs had sidled up to her, smirking and whispering the dreaded word, "Mudblood". Her cheeks had flushed in anger at that nasty word. Hermione had ripped her wand from her pocket and, in a harsh whisper, threatened to "hex their big backsides to Hell if they didn't scram". Jabbing her wand into their chests for emphasis, she'd lectured them on the use of foul words. In a whisper, of course. The two baboons had looked at her blankly and ignored her. Instead, they conjured up a large bucket of mud. Befuddled, Hermione watched them with a suspicious eye. In a flash, before she could react, they grabbed her books and papers and tossed them into the bucket, saying, "Mudbloods belong with mud, and so do their possessions."

Horrified, Hermione had shrieked at them at the top of her lungs, momentarily forgetting that she was in the library. At that moment, Draco Malfoy appeared, with his trademark smirk plastered firmly in place.

"Well well well, what have we got here?"

Hermione had glared at him, and seethed, "Your darlings here threw my books into a bucket of mud. And-"

She was cut off by a reedy voice, "What is going on? I heard someone yelling. Who is it? Own up!"

Hermione had flushed from both embarrassment and rage. Her reputation was ruined, thanks to two bloody gorillas! She would be banned, banned from her most favourite place in the whole of Hogwarts! This was terrible.

She squeaked, "It was me. But that's because Crabbe and Goyle threw my stuff into a bucket of mud."

Madam Pince had glared at the four of them with her beady eyes, and snapped, "Detention for you two," pointing to Crabbe and Goyle, "and no more screaming for you," she told Hermione sternly. And with an impressive flurry of robes, she'd left the four students there. It was Hermione's turn to smirk. Draco had caught the triumphant light in her eyes, and the smirk that twisted her face. Annoyed at Crabbe and Goyle's stupidity (honestly, attacking her in the library!) and incensed by Hermione's apparent victory from this battle, Draco furiously spat a barrage of insults at her, hitting on her most sensitive points.

"You're just a worthless Mudblood," he'd hissed venomously. "A prudish, disgusting, filthy Mudblood. So what if you have good grades? Your blood is tainted, like the dirty soil; you're not worthy to be here at Hogwarts. Go back to your Muggles; you're contaminating the air here. No one will miss you anyway; you're about as attractive as the gum on the bottom of my shoe. You belong with filth, just remember that." And he turned and left.

Those words had hurt terribly. Draco had hit right on target- emphasizing on her plain looks, and once again, her blood. Hermione had stood rooted to the spot, overcome with hurt. She could barely believe that someone could be so malevolent, deliberately causing such pain to fellow human being. Perhaps her blood wasn't as pure as his, but no matter what, she was still a human being, with rights! Even House Elves had rights! Well, technically they didn't, but she was going to fight for their rights.

Hermione had gathered her books and belongings slowly, cast a cleansing spell on her them and trudged out of the library, her entire body throbbing with leftover anger and hurt. She made her way up to the Astronomy Tower to be alone. Once there, she dropped her possessions on the ground with a crash and leaned heavily against the flagged stone wall. There, she'd thought long and hard about the reasons why Draco Malfoy hated her like the plague. Spiteful, spitting, hurtful words that cut like a blade, torturing the flesh. It was like a fiery fire licking at her insides, causing her to feel a terrible, burning hurt. His words rang in her ears, haunting her like a wretched ghost. She just couldn't comprehend why Draco Malfoy disliked her so immensely. Was she that detestable? Why couldn't Draco Malfoy see past her heritage and see the person that lay beneath it? For that matter, why couldn't anyone see further than her perfect grades? Everyone saw her as The Bookworm, the person to cheat off tests, the future Professor McGonagall. No one saw her as a girl; even Ron and Harry saw her as some sort of asexual being! Bitter thoughts flooded Hermione, causing tears to well up in her eyes, as she sat on the stone cold floor for the next two hours. When the bell had rung for dinner, she'd gotten up, shivering and aching all over. Lips trembling, close to tears, she'd sat down at the dinner table, and ran off halfway through.

Now, reaching the Fat Lady, Hermione was certain of one thing: She hated Draco Malfoy. She hated him with a white hot vengeance, a burning fiery blaze of hatred. She wanted to stab him with a knife and push it in so deep it would slice through his flesh and bone. She wanted to take a dagger and slice his flesh off, bit by bit and make curry with it. Yes, that was the extent of her anger. By nature Hermione wasn't a violent person, but she would make an exception for Malfoy. To be honest, she wasn't certain why she even cared. Malfoy was her nemesis; it was natural for him to hate her and vice versa. Shaking herself mentally, she told herself to be strong. Normally she would not let such a silly thing faze her. Hermione had always been of a strong character. Alas, there are always times when the strongest of men break down. Hermione, having suffered years of insults and taunts, was bound to break down one day. It was sort of natural for her to cry, for girls are normally sensitive creatures, no matter what kind of image they portrayed.

ooo

Hermione muttered the password to the Fat Lady in a hoarse voice and climbed through the hole, ignoring the Fat Lady's concerned questions about her red eyed appearance. Once through the hole, she walked over to the plump, squishy armchairs near the fire. She threw herself onto the chair heavily. It squeaked a tiny protest. Hermione surveyed the red and gold theme that adorned the Common Room. Fire crackled merrily in the grate, its warm embers giving out a pleasant heat. The flagged stone floor was covered with a scarlet carpet. At the far end, several battered wooden tables were pushed against the wall. Usually the younger Gryffindors would do their homework on that table, while the older ones took the better ones in front of the fire. Curtains covered the large windows that looked out to the Quidditch pitch. A gentle autumn breeze filled the room, causing the scarlet curtains to billow. Circular stairs led to the boys' and girls' dormitories. The dormitories were large, airy rooms with four poster beds. Crimson and gold bed sheets covered the beds. Thick, plush carpets lay on the cold stone floor, to protect the students' feet from cold winter mornings.

As students started to pour into the Common Room, Hermione stood up regrettably, for she was getting comfortable. She slowly made her way up to the dormitories, for she wanted to avoid any unnecessary questions from her fellow Gryffindors. As Head Girl, she did have her own room. A privilege, Dumbledore had said, his moustache twitching. The memory of that brought a faint smile to her face. She was avoiding the Head's Room because the Head Boy was none other than Draco Malfoy. Yes, the detestable, racist, blond haired, grey eyed Draco Malfoy. For the eight thousand, nine hundred and seventy third time, Hermione cursed the fact that Draco Malfoy was the Head Boy. It was awful, the past one week with him as Head Boy. He'd done all the usual duties, that was true, but it was still terrible having Malfoy as Head Boy. The thought of having to organize events with him was enough to make her want to shoot herself in the head. Well, seven years of perfect grades had earned her this place; she wasn't going to give it up so easily. Perhaps she would shoot Malfoy instead, she thought.

Pushing open the door of the dormitories, Hermione was greeted by the familiar sight of four poster beds. She walked to the only unoccupied one, drew the curtains around her, undressed and slipped under the covers. The cool sheets settled around her as her mind slowed down and began to switch off. Suddenly a thought struck her like a two ton train. She remembered that she hadn't completed the Potions essay that she was doing before Crabbe and Goyle attacked her. She sat up in bed in mild horror, contemplating whether she should get out of bed to complete it. However, her body screamed in protest. Her body ached all over; her throat was still smarting from the crying, her eyes felt puffy and swollen, and her entire body was just exhausted from the day's events.

Hermione eased her tired body back onto the soft mattress. I'll do it tomorrow, she told herself. Her conscience, however, would not let the matter go. It tossed and turned the issue of the homework, saying things like 'procrastination is the first sign of laziness' and 'do it today, you lazybones!' It reminded her eerily of the homework diary she had bought for Harry and Ron for Christmas in their first year. She ignored her conscience and proceeded to try and get some rest.

As her eyelids grew heavy, her breathing slowed, and dreams came to visit her. That night, her dreams were mingled with homework diaries, buckets of mud, and a certain loathsome silver eyed boy.

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