Ch. 5 Mudblood

Oh, my life / Is changing every day / In every possible way

And oh, my dreams / It's never quite as it seems / Never quite as it seems

I know I've felt like this before / But now I'm feeling it even more / Because it came from you

Then I open up and see / The person falling here is me / A different way to be

Dreams, The Cranberries

"It is entirely your fault we're late for Muggle Studies and I'm really not happy about it," Draco grumbled to Blaise, as the two boys did a kind of walk-jog down the corridor, with Theo hurrying along in front of them. None of them would run. That would be too undignified. But, with the relentless fuck-ups that had littered his first week of school, Draco really didn't want to be late for Muggle Studies, of all the bloody subjects. "I will not keep a lookout for you anymore whilst you have some fifth year Ravenclaw suck you off behind a fucking tapestry –"

"I didn't think she'd take so long," Blaise replied amiably through hurried breaths, as they rounded a corner; they were only a few metres from the door of the Muggle Studies classroom now. "She kept edging me you see, which was fantastic, but took for-fucking-ever. Anyway, she wasn't a fifth year, she was a sixth year, and she didn't suck me off," – Theo pushed open the door of the classroom just as Blaise clarified, loudly and clearly: "It was just a handjob!"

The three Slytherin boys burst into the classroom just as Blaise made his declaration and were met with a stunned silence. Draco noticed a disarmingly young man in Muggle clothes standing at the front of the room, his eyebrows raised in a kind of benign curiosity. The lesson had clearly started already and the students had all turned at the boys' entrance and were now staring unabashedly at the latecomers.

"Well, despite the fact it was just a handjob, I hope it was worth missing the start of this lesson for?" the young man asked wryly.

"Sorry we're late, Professor," Theo apologised, his voice smooth and his composure unruffled, as if the excruciatingly embarrassing exchange that had just taken place had never happened.

Draco and Blaise were probably the only ones that could see past Theo's apparent nonchalance and note the rigid set of his shoulders; Theo was adept at pushing down his emotions in order to act as the occasion required. He often appeared cool, calm and aloof, but Draco knew that deep down there was a cauldron of bubbling emotions Theo was skilled at keeping a lid on. It was something that Draco also did, of course, but not even he suppressed his emotions as much as Theo .

To Draco's relief, the teacher didn't seem keen on interrogating Blaise on his recent sexual escapades. He merely nodded shortly and gestured to some empty desks. "Please take a seat."

The classroom wasn't full – Muggle Studies was one of the least popular NEWTs – and thankfully, there were three empty seats next to each other at the back of the room. As the boys shuffled towards the desks, Draco braved a surreptitious scan of the still-staring faces of his fellow students, quickly processing the high number of Muggle-borns and half-bloods in the class, which was to be expected – Muggle Studies was seen as an easy subject for them.

His insides tightened as he spotted Granger, who was looking at him with those same dead eyes that had gotten under his skin in DADA, her face expressionless except for a subtle hint of something like accusation. Her eyes hadn't been so dead a few nights ago on the Astronomy Tower, though – they had sparked then, and Draco had taken an odd kind of satisfaction in the fact they had come alive again, even if it had been due to the sheer vitriolic disdain that Granger had for him.

As the three boys took their seats, Draco felt his lips twist into a grimace as he remembered his tussle with Granger on the Tower. He'd totally messed up his exposure exercise. He hadn't intended to go to the Tower that evening, but then Pansy and Blaise had started handing round firewhiskeys. The false courage the drink had given him had meant he'd done the almost exact opposite of what Alethea had suggested: he'd gone to the Tower before they'd finished working through the memory in their sessions – at night, and on his own, for fuck's sake.

He had intended to just stay on the threshold, at the top of the stairs, but when he'd seen Granger about to launch herself off the battlements, his body had reacted instinctively and before he knew it he was holding her down on the floor of the Tower, his hands grasping round her slim wrists –

"I was just introducing myself," the young man at the front of the room smiled warmly at the class –

Holding her slim, delicate wrists, with her warm, lithe body wriggling under him –

"I'm Benjamin Battersby. And I am not yet a professor. I am still doing my training, so you can address me as sir, Mr Battersby, or even just Ben!"

For some reason, Draco hadn't wanted to let her go. He hadn't wanted her hurting herself, of course, because that would have caused all kinds of trouble, but even when he'd been convinced she wouldn't, he still, inexplicably and confusingly, hadn't wanted to let her go.

"I am Muggleborn and after I finished at Hogwarts, I went to a Muggle university – Bristol, in fact – and studied Muggle Politics, Philosophy and Economics. I've now started my training as a Hogwarts professor."

Well, that explained why he looked like he was just out of nappies. Mr Ben, or Batty, or whatever the fuck his name was – Draco had been too distracted by his memories of Saturday night to register it – turned to write on the blackboard.

"Merlin, what a beautiful arse," Blaise whispered, and Draco noted how his eyes were trained on Mr Ben's behind.

Draco rolled his eyes just as Theo hissed, "Blaise, does your cock never switch off?"

Blaise merely smirked and continued to look straight ahead as Batterboy turned back to the class.

"Okay. So!" their new teacher declared. "I understand that your teaching of Muggle Studies was somewhat disrupted last year."

A whisper and stifled snort came from the direction Thomas, that annoying little Gryffindor fucker, who was sitting next to Granger. Why were Gryffindors so annoying?

"Something wrong?" Battersby – that was his name – queried.

Granger and Thomas exchanged a look. Then, after a reticent silence, Granger spoke in the same flat, dull voice that she'd spoken with in DADA. A voice that Draco was beginning to hate more than the know-it-all sing-song intonation that had come out her mouth for the first six years of their schooling.

"Well, Dean was just saying that his teaching was indeed disrupted, considering he wasn't allowed to be at school at all."

Battersby's mouth turned down and he nodded sagely. "Yes, of course... And those that were here, what kind of things did you learn – or rather, were you told about Muggles?"

There was an uncomfortable silence. Motherfucking Merlin, was this going to be a repetition of the excruciating Q and A that had taken up half of their DADA lesson? Why must everyone insist on raking through the past? Draco wouldn't even be here if he had a choice, but studying NEWT level Muggle Studies was another condition of his and Blaise's sentencing. Which is why he'd really not wanted to be late for the first lesson.

Although, there was a part of Draco that actually wanted to study the subject. There was so much about Muggles he didn't know but had always wondered about. And before, he'd never been able to express that curiosity, at least not to his parents, for fear of being shunned or shamed, or labelled a Blood Traitor. It had been the same for Theo who, now that his father was dead, didn't have to hide the fact that he was truly interested in the subject. Theo had been secretly researching Muggle culture for years, surreptitiously reading Muggle books in the Hogwarts library, Madam Pince being the only person aware of Theo's illicit interest. Blaise appeared ambivalent about the class. But then Blaise was ambivalent about most academic pursuits.

"Mr Malfoy? Could you outline for me some of what was covered in this subject last year?"

Why the bloody fuck was he being called upon? He felt the stabbing of pain just behind his right eye – the ominous beginnings of a migraine.

"Erm...it was all inaccurate, sir," Draco started awkwardly, acutely aware that all the eyes in the room had turned to him once again. "Just...stuff like Muggle diseases, how…Muggles are all dirty...and intellectually inferior...and stuff."

"Hmm," Battersby said brusquely. "So, pureblood supremacist propaganda? Effectively?"

"Exactly," Draco agreed, grateful he didn't have to continue.

To his relief, his goggling fellow students turned back to the front of the class. All except Granger, who continued to stare at him, seemingly unblinkingly.

"Good summary, sir," Blaise chipped in cheerfully, giving Battersby a mock salute.

"Thank you, Mr Zabini."

"Oh, you can call me Blaise."

Draco turned to Blaise to see him gifting Battersby with one of his disarmingly charming grins. At the same time, he noticed Granger's gaze finally leave him to look down at her parchment, and felt his shoulders relax.

In response to Blaise, Battersby opened his mouth as if to speak, then shut it again, seemingly at a loss for words. Draco noticed a blooming flush of pink creep up the teacher's neck to his cheeks. It was the first time he had faltered since they'd arrived.

It was incredible, Draco thought with a mixture of amusement and incredulity, how brazen and shameless Blaise sometimes was. But there was another side to him, Draco knew – the whole of the DADA class had seen it when that little Irish shit had accused Blaise of being a rapist: on very rare occasions, when Blaise felt wronged, he could become extremely angry.

Since their fifth year, Blaise had garnered a reputation, inside and outside of Slytherin House, for sex. Bisexual and promiscuous, he had effectively shagged his way through his fifth and sixth year. But last year, Blaise had been surprisingly chaste. When questioned about this, he'd retorted dryly: "Having someone suck you off when you might have to curse them the next day kind of dampens your libido."

So even Blaise had limits, it seemed. And what he'd always prided himself on was that his partners were always more than willing – were always consenting – which was why, Draco understood, the accusation of rape offended something deep within Blaise's moral core. And it had been proven unequivocally false – even by a Wizengamot that was biased against Blaise, for fuck's sake.

Draco hadn't always understood Blaise so well. They had only become close over the last year. Through a succession of small happenings and subtle observations, under the shadow of the Carrows' reign of the school, Theo, Draco and Blaise had seemed to silently recognise something common in each other. An unspoken understanding had slowly formed between them, an understanding that had been too dangerous to voice out loud because it went against their families, against the Carrows, against Voldemort. But an understanding which, nonetheless, formed the basis of what Draco supposed was friendship.

Although, he still wasn't entirely sure about the friendship part because, before Theo and Blaise, he didn't think he'd had a true friend in his life. Crabbe and Goyle had been little more than minions. Hence, the experience of navigating an actual friendship was still new to Draco.

"Right, well, considering your lack of adequate education last year, we have a lot to catch up on," Battersby was now saying. "You should have received an outline of the curriculum going forward. We're going to start with Muggle technology and economics – two separate but inextricably linked topics. Then move onto culture later in the term – music, literature, art, etc. So! What would you say are the most significant Muggle advances in technology of the past two hundred years?"

"Electricity?" someone suggested.

"Yes!" Battersby charmed a piece of chalk to write the word on the blackboard, as other students called out further suggestions:

"The steam engine."

"Those computer things?"

"Cars."

"Aeroplanes are pretty cool too. I'd rather fly in them than on a broom."

"Right! And why don't magical kind have planes? Why have we not acquired such means as huge flying boxes of metal, that would no doubt make some of our lives easier?"

"Because of Seer Gaia's Earthly Prophecies," Blaise offered enthusiastically.

"Hmm-hmm, yes, Mr Zabini – er – Blaise. And what about that?"

Draco knew far more about Gaia's prophecy than the Muggle shit they'd just been talking about – every witch and wizard knew about Gaia's prophecies.

There was a pause before Theo spoke up.

"Seer Gaia had several powerful visions between the years 1829 to 1840, when the Muggle industrial revolution took hold. She saw that the consumption of coal and other fossil fuels for energy, or the making of plastic and stuff, would lead to a warming of the planet, what Muggles are now calling 'global warming'. And that this warming would set about a chain of events which will ultimately destroy the ecosystems of the world, and human beings with it.

"She was one of the most respected Seers of all time, and so the Ministry heeded her warnings and chose not to partake in the same types of industry that Muggles were pursuing. The Ministry put a very limited cap on the consumption of fossil fuels and the use of non-biodegradable materials, like plastics."

Theo's years of self-directed Muggle Studies was paying off, it seemed. Draco felt even more inadequate at his housemates' articulate contribution.

"Hmm-hmm...exactly! So we're stuck with feather quills rather than bic biros," Battersby summed up. Draco only had a vague idea what a 'biro' was, and even less of an idea of what a 'bic' was. "And knowing what we know now, do we think that Seer Gaia's prophecy had some truth in it?"

There was a murmuring of affirmative responses.

"It seems that even Muggles are coming to realise that how they've treated the Earth and its resources is, indeed, leading to its destruction," Battersby said. "But nonetheless, what are the advantages of electricity?"

"Like, how you can listen to music – walkmans! And CDs!" Thomas declared enthusiastically.

Again, Draco had no clue what he was on about. But that was why he was here – to learn about all this Muggle shit. As the lesson went on, Draco tried to concentrate on it as much as possible, but he found his attention constantly drawn to the pile of unruly curls that was the back of Granger's head.

It wasn't that she was doing, or saying, anything particularly distracting. She wasn't constantly leaping out her seat to answer a question, her hand waving intrusively in the air, or scrawling irritatingly and frantically on her parchment, as she'd done in previous years.

Ironically, it was the very fact she wasn't doing any of these things that distracted Draco so much – the fact that she'd go for minutes just sitting, still and unmoving, staring vacantly in front of her at something no one else could see. Occasionally, she'd move – to absent-mindedly rub her left forearm, or to clasp her wand in her hand, as if checking she still had it. Sometimes she'd pick up her quill and slowly write something down, but the movements were devoid of the energy and enthusiasm that had previously been so typical of her.

What the fuck was wrong with her?

A few days later, just before dinner, Draco was walking the grounds of Hogwarts, brooding on thoughts of his first week of school, when he rounded a corner of the castle to find that a Ravenclaw and a Gryffindor – they looked like third years – had backed Freddie Flint, Marcus' younger brother and second year Slytherin, against the wall.

"Bet your filthy whore of a mother got on her knees for that noseless nutcase and begged to suck his cock," the Ravenclaw spat down at a cowering Freddie.

"Don't you dare talk about my mother like that!" Freddie retorted. His hands were empty and Draco saw that the Gryffindor had two wands clasped in his fist.

"Okay boys, maybe that's enough," Draco attempted to make his voice as authoritative as possible to try and compensate for the fact that, due to his wand ban, he was magically impotent.

The two second years turned to him. The Ravenclaw sneered in such a disdainful way that Draco was impressed despite himself; it was a Slytherin-standard sneer. "Piss off. This is none of your business."

Draco recognised him then: Robert Bones, Amelia Bones' nephew. It was known that Marcus and Freddie's father had probably been involved in the assault against the Boneses.

"Well, it kind of is my business now I'm here," Draco drawled regretfully.

There was a tense silence as Draco and the two second years eyed each other, whilst Freddie's eyes flitted anxiously between his assailants and his potential rescuer. The anticipation was broken by the two second years raising their wands, pointing them at Draco and saying in unison:

"Impedimenta!"

"Immobilius!"

Draco was hurled backwards against the wall and, to his annoyance, found he could not bloody move. Over the following minutes, Draco had no choice but to watch helplessly whilst the little third year shits continued to goad and taunt Freddie. But rather than getting scared, Draco could see that Freddie was getting more and more riled.

"Fuck off!" Freddie cried at one point, making a feeble attempt to push his way out of the small circle the students had trapped him in.

The Gryffindor made an infuriatingly patronisingly tutting noise and violently pushed Freddie back against the wall.

"Get your filthy mudblood hands off of me!" Freddie declared as his back hit the stone wall.

At exactly the same time, someone else came striding round the corner, someone with a familiar flounce to her stride and a mane of wild frizz.

Draco watched as Hermione Granger froze on the spot a metre or so from the group, her eyes wide and wand clasped in front of her. In contrast to the dulled expression Draco had started to get used to, her eyes flashed in anger and defiance. Again, although it indicated danger, it was also comfortably familiar – to see that spark in her eyes that had so often been there before the war.

"Levicorpus!" she cried, pointing her wand at Freddie, who immediately shot several metres up into the air.

Then Granger abruptly swished her wand in a tight circular movement, causing Freddie to tip upside down. The Slytherin let out a small yelp of terror.

"What did you say?!" Granger screeched, her eyes fixed intently on the first year.

"I – I didn't mean it!" Freddie cried, his face red and tone scared.

"Then why on earth would you say such a word?!"

Draco noticed that Granger's breathing had quickened and her face had become flushed. Alarmingly, she started making tiny circular movements with her wand and Freddie started spinning around slowly. Robert Bones and his annoying little sidekick laughed mercilessly at the sight, whilst Draco fought desperately – and futilely – against the immobulus spell that was keeping him paralysed.

"It – it just came out but I – Merlin, please let me down, I'm going to be sick!"

Draco looked at Granger, silently pleading for her to let the boy down. If Freddie vomited in that position, it wasn't going to be pretty. And he was in danger of choking, being turned around like that.

Just then, a sixth person rounded the corner, tall and with a sweeping green skirt and black boots that crunched authoritatively on the gravel. Draco could not decide whether this was a good or bad turn of events. Probably bad.

"What on earth is going on?!" McGonagall exclaimed, her eyes darting around the group.

Then, in an impressively quick succession of movements, she flicked out her wand and pointed it at Freddie. The boy's body turned upright and descended to the ground, Granger's wand was whipped from her hand and flew into McGonagall's, just as Freddie's was wrenched from Bones', soared through the air and landed with a clatter at Freddie's feet. Lastly, and to his relief, Draco felt the paralysing hex lift and relief swept over him as he regained full control of his muscles once more.

"Miss Granger, what in heaven's name were you thinking!? No matter the transgression, we cannot conduct such spells on younger students – on any students! You know your actions are contrary to the conduct we expect from pupils – especially prefects, who should be setting an example!"

Draco watched as the fire left Granger's eyes. Her face no longer bore defiance and anger but was guarded and uncertain. Her arms were trembling and her breath came in quick gasps.

"This will not do!" McGonagall continued. "I want to see you all in my office immediately! Including you, Mr Malfoy!"

Draco's heart sank at McGonagall's words. Why, in the name of Salazar's saggy ballsack, was he relentlessly finding himself in these bullshit situations? As he turned along with the others to follow McGonagall into the castle he glanced at Granger, but she determinedly avoided his gaze.

A/N: I'm aware Hermione's actions may seem a little out of character here, but there's a really good reason/s why she responds in this way, which will be explained in the next couple of chapters :o).

As always, huge thanks to Frumpologist and scullymurphy for being amazing alphabetas!

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