Muggle-Born by winterwells
I do not own these characters. However, I do own the grammatical errors.
Also, I've been cross-posting this fic on AO3 with illustrations for each chapter. I've created an Instagram account where I'll be posting my artwork if anyone wants to check it out under the username thewinterwells.
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That secret that you know
But you don't know how to tell
It fucks with your honour
And it teases your head
But you know that it's good, girl
'Cause it's running you with red…
"Bloodbank" by Bon Iver
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Summer 1994: Quidditch World Cup
Hermione followed behind Harry and the Weasleys as they made their way to the box seats for the World Cup. As much as the sport annoyed her, she couldn't help the awe she felt at the grandeur of the stadium.
"Over 100,000 seats!" she heard Mr Weasley say. "And it's got anti-Muggle wards, to boot. Hidden in plain sight…." he trailed off, fumbling toward their destination.
Hermione was impressed by the view of the pitch while the adults in the box all shook hands and fawned over Harry. It was evident that her presence was of no consequence, now well aware of her supposed standing in the Wizarding world. A second-class citizen simply because of her heritage.
Muggle-born.
Of course, it didn't bother her anymore. Not really, at least. She was proud of her heritage. Most days.
"Give it here!" Ron exclaimed as he and Harry fought over the omnioculars.
"Ha! I can make that man pick his nose again. And again. And again!" laughed Harry, experimenting with the replay feature. Hermione gave an exasperated sigh as she pulled out the event programme. The velvet and tassels seemed a bit much, but she'd gotten used to wizards' and witches' flair for the dramatic.
"Looks like the teams' mascots will come out any moment," she said absently. Moments later, she felt Harry stiffen in his seat beside her. She followed his line of sight toward the three empty seats before turning her head to see Lucius Malfoy enter with an unfamiliar woman, followed by Draco Malfoy. The woman was obviously Lady Malfoy.
The family moved to their seats while Hermione half listened to the awkward introduction between Arthur Weasley and Lucius Malfoy. The older Malfoy scanned his face over their party and eventually landed on Hermione. She kept a stoic face, only slightly embarrassed by his penetrating glare. He finally sat, allowing her gaze to move onto Draco, who simply sneered at Ron, then Harry. When his eyes met hers, he faltered a fraction while his cheeks took on a slight rosy hue as he turned and took his own seat.
"Slimy gits," she heard Ron grumble.
"Indeed," Hermione replied, refocusing on the programme.
...
"What a match!" Hermione heard Ron exclaim. He and Harry were going on and on about Krum and his decision to catch the Snitch and lose the game "on his terms," as Ron had stated. She continued to trail behind the Weasley crew (plus Harry), lost in thought.
Third year had been exhausting. Not only because of running around with the Time-Turner but also because of the inevitable mysteries and life-threatening circumstances in which the trio always found themselves.
"Granger."
Hermione nearly took a misstep at the sound of her name coming from a familiar voice that also caused much of her mental fatigue.
"Granger!" the voice called again, accompanied by a not-so-gentle arm grab. Then, as she felt her body pulled behind a tent, she quickly went for her wand to turn and point it at the boy's throat.
"You should have learned by now not to ambush people from behind! Do you want to be hexed, or do you simply want me to hit you again?" she said, irritated that the prat thought he could manhandle her.
Malfoy immediately let her arm go and backed up.
"I'm sorry," he blurted out.
Hermione huffed a humourless laugh. "You're going to have to be more specific, Malfoy. I wish I could say I had a list of all the things you could be sorry for, but that seems more like something you'd do. I bet it's another pure-blood tradition. Keeping a record of wrongs."
Malfoy only responded by pulling out a small folded-up tapestry and shoving it into her hand that was not preoccupied with holding her wand towards him.
"What's this?" she asked, already knowing what the fabric was, just confused about why he gave it to her.
"An explanation."
She furrowed her brow in confusion, but then he jutted his chin - a gesture for her to unfold the tapestry. Hermione rolled her eyes and carefully unfolded the item. Her initial reaction was simply confusion as she read over its contents, but it quickly turned to shock.
"Oh," was all she could utter.
"Oh," he echoed.
...
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3 Months Prior (Spring, Third Year)
Hermione followed Harry and Ron out of the Three Broomsticks to return to the castle. Easter Hols was the following week, which meant the Quidditch Cup Final between Slytherin and Gryffindor was right around the corner leading to the boys talking about wibbly-wobbly feints (or whatever they were called) and other terms from the sport she didn't care about. Which was why she spent most of her time in the pub sipping Butterbeer whilst studying for her exams that were quickly approaching.
It wasn't until she stepped out the door that she realised she'd left her arithmancy book on the table. Maybe she really was overextending herself this year? It hadn't escaped her notice that her mind had been a bit more frazzled as of late, with an overload of classes, Buckbeak's appeal and avoiding Malfoy at all costs, among other things. Luckily, the git seemed to be avoiding her the past two weeks since the infamous 'Slap Heard 'Round Hogwarts' as the twins liked to say while whinging they hadn't been there to witness the blessed event. Hermione only regretted not closing her fist and making it a full-on punch.
"Go on ahead," she said to Ron and Harry. "Forgot my arithmancy book. I'll meet you two later."
The boys waved her off, not stopping Ron's one-sided conversation about not catching the Snitch until a fifty-point lead or something.
Hermione ran back into the building and grabbed the book from where she had left it. But instead of rushing back out to catch up with the boys, she decided a leisurely walk back to the castle alone might do her some good. It wasn't until she was halfway to her destination that she sensed someone approaching her from behind.
"Granger," called the voice.
Merlin, just what she needed.
Hermione continued to walk on, ignoring the git.
"Granger!" called the voice again, only in a harsh whisper this time, as she felt him run up behind her. Then, on instinct, Hermione drew her wand while turning on her heel.
Draco instantly backed up while holding his hands in surrender - clearly having not forgotten their last interaction. She'd hoped to still see the imprint of her palm on his pasty face, but alas, it had faded.
"What, Malfoy?" she snapped.
"You… y-you're…" he stammered, face a bit red as he gestured to her body.
"What?" she said again, glancing down at her person while her wand pointed toward his chest. Nothing seemed off. Maybe he was offended by her Muggle clothing? She glanced back up.
"Blood," he stated.
"Oh, Merlin. Are you serious right now? You're going to ambush me and insult my blood status because I slapped you?"
He shook his head in the negative, seeming to struggle for words. "No. You…o-on your -" he gestured awkwardly for her to turn around. "Your bum," he finally blurted out.
"Oh, my god," Hermione exclaimed, now mortified. "I can't believe this."
She quickly cast a spell to clean her denim trousers before she looked back at Draco, who stood dumbly.
"What? You're not going to harass me? Make fun of me? Have a laugh at the poor Mudblood."
"It's red."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Of course, it's red. Don't tell me you're that daft - You actually thought my blood was so dirty that it's not even the right colour?" Having felt done with this bizarre and humiliating interaction, Hermione took the chance and continued her walk back to the castle. "Wanker," she mumbled to herself.
After a minute or two, like an unwanted apparition, Draco's presence found its way to her left side and kept pace with her.
"I suppose this is the part where you bribe me for something stupid so you keep your trap shut about all this? Honestly, Malfoy, go ahead and tell everyone I bled through my jeans. I can assure you that revealing you're privy to that information will not have the desired effect you're looking for."
Draco said nothing, still walking beside her. Hermione took a chance to glance over at him to see his brow furrowed as if performing complex arithmancy in his head.
"Don't tell me you don't know what a period is," she said flatly.
That seemed to get his attention.
"Merlin, Granger. I know what - what that is! That's not - I don't give a fuck about that."
Hermione gave a humourless laugh. "Well, you're acting like you have some weird fetish, so please enlighten me as to why you're haunting my steps. Because if you don't bugger off, I'm not going to slap you - I'm going to punch you."
"Were you adopted?" he suddenly asked, not even acknowledging her threat.
At this line of inquiry, Hermione halted dead in her tracks at the absurdity of the topic change and the seemingly random intrusive question.
"I must have hit you harder than I thought. What kind of question is that?"
"It's a simple question, Granger."
"Are you serious?" she asked incredulously. Draco didn't respond.
Then it hit her.
"You are unbelievable!" she yelled shrilly as she resumed her trek back to the castle.
And, of course, he still followed her.
"Are you so set on the fact that Muggle-borns are inferior?" she barked. "That because I outperform you in everything makes you think I'm not a Muggle-born?" She laughed incredulously. "I'm almost inclined to be flattered."
At that, the boy bristled. "It isn't a compliment, Granger. Of course, I'd be an idiot not to acknowledge you get higher marks than me. But that's only because you're such a Swot with nothing better to do but read books." His face had taken on a smug look. "I'm asking because you neither act like a pure-blood nor a Muggle-born. Hell, not even a Half-blood."
Hermione tried to speak, but he cut her off.
"You prance around Hogwarts in such a way that suggests you neither belong in the Muggle world nor the Wizarding world. I've watched the other Muggle-borns, and at least they understand their place. I think you were baby-snatched and raised by a species a step above an animal."
Crunch*
"HOW DARE YOU! YOU FOUL LOATHSOME -" screamed Hermione as she pulled back her fist, having punched Malfoy in the nose. Draco stumbled back, holding his face. She could see the blood already dripping down his chin.
She stepped back and then added smugly, "It's red."
And with that, Hermione turned on her heel (yet again) and finished her walk back to the castle.
Alone.
...
2 Weeks Later
"I have a proposition for you, Granger," came an annoying voice that could only belong to one said pure-blood who couldn't seem to stop acting like a creepy stalker. It was a few days after Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup, and Malfoy had seemed pretty sullen since his team's defeat.
Not that Hermione was paying attention.
Hermione lowered her book and watched as Malfoy sat across from her at her favourite table in the library. She thought he might have been concussed from her punch, given he was now associating with her mid-day for all the other students in the library to see.
"A proposition?" she questioned warily.
"A deal of sorts," he clarified. "I want you to make a Blood Tapestry."
"Blood Tapestry?" she echoed. Hermione had encountered the term in some of her reading but hadn't paid much attention.
"It's similar to the family tree tapestries linked to old pure-blood familial homes. But instead of ink and family magic, it's produced through a special potion and blood. It includes blood status, and it is impossible to manipulate."
Damn her curiosity.
"What do you mean impossible to manipulate?"
Malfoy leaned back into his chair, seeming to relax now that he had caught her attention.
"A standard tapestry can be manipulated by the Lord or Lady of the house. Most commonly done to remove Squibs, bastards, and Blood Traitors."
Hermione was definitely intrigued by this bit of information, but this being Malfoy gave her pause to jump into any kind of deal.
"Why do you even care? Can't you accept that blood status doesn't matter and move on?" she asked annoyedly. "Besides, what would I get in return?"
Draco took on the persona of nonchalance. "In return, your oversized chicken can keep his ugly head."
Hermione nearly gasped but was able to keep her shock to a minimum.
"As in all charges are dropped, and Buckbeak is free to live his life in peace with Hagrid?" she questioned, knowing semantics are essential when dealing with a Slytherin.
"Exactly that. The beast will live his life with the freedom to terrorise future Hogwarts students for years to come."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "That was your fault, Malfoy. Don't go playing the victim."
Draco simply raised a brow, waiting for her to make the deal.
"You really are stuck on proving I'm some tragic story of being baby-snatched by evil Muggles?"
Draco smirked at her.
It had been a nightmare trying to get Buckbeak's case appealed. But the thought that it could all go away if she did this stupid experiment seemed too good to be true.
Draco pounced on her hesitation.
"Is the great Hermione Granger scared by a bit of knowledge?" he challenged. "Afraid to find out you're not who you think you are?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes to study the boy's features. His face was set in a stern glare, but something in his eyes betrayed his true emotions. She just wasn't sure what it was yet.
"Come on, Granger. You're all about research and that rot. Not to mention saving the oaf's pet. Surely you can't resist being a hero."
Hermione crossed her arms, not taking her eyes off his face and contemplating her next course of action. There had to be a catch. And then a thought struck her, causing her to let out an undignified snort of a laugh.
"What's so funny?" he asked, annoyed.
"Oh my god," she continued to laugh. Malfoy looked confused.
"What?" he questioned, his steely nature slightly fracturing as the power imbalance shifted.
"Do you fancy me?" she questioned. Malfoy baulked at the comment, but she continued before he could speak. "Hermione Granger, the lost pure-blood princess," she continued mockingly. "Can't wait till my father hears about this, so he'll write up the marriage contract!" she added in a poor impression of his signature whinging.
Malfoy scowled while his face reddened - either in embarrassment or anger.
Probably both.
"First of all, no. I do not fancy you, Granger. Don't flatter yourself," he spat angrily. "Maybe this isn't even about you." He took a breath and seemed to calm down. "Look, you're the miss know-it-all Swot. Maybe I just want to understand something that's been fucking niggling my brain since before I even knew you existed," he said coldly as he folded his arms, mimicking Hermione's posture. "Aren't you even curious?" he added, softer than she'd ever heard him speak.
"If you prove that Buckbeak is safe, then and only then will I help you with your unnecessary and highly offensive experiment."
"Fine," he agreed, faster than she'd expected.
"Fine," she echoed with a nod.
To Hermione's surprise, Malfoy extended his hand. She hesitantly took it, and he gave one firm shake before abruptly standing.
"Meet me in the abandoned toilets on the second floor tomorrow after supper. I'll work on acquiring the supplies before then." He moved to walk away.
"Wait!" she called out. "Won't Professor Snape allow you to use the potions room? You're his favourite student."
"He can't know," Malfoy said before giving a curt nod and then left without another word.
Hermione spent the next few hours in the library reading every book she could find regarding Blood Tapestries and how to make one. It was a strange feeling not being the one to head the project. She knew Malfoy was decent with potions and could only hope that if the brew didn't work, he wouldn't blame her for the failure.
The next evening, Hermione entered the toilets to find Malfoy already had everything set up. He didn't even turn his head toward her before speaking. "How's fuckbeak?"
"You're such a prat," she said, annoyed, knowing he was trying to rile her up. "But alive and well. I'd say thank you, but it's your fault he was facing execution in the first place."
"Correction, my father's fault. It was never my intention to have the beast slaughtered."
Her face softened at the gangly teen, but then he opened his mouth again.
"Not worth the mess," he added with a cheeky grin.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Well, seeing as I kept my end of the bargain - here." He handed her a knife. "Chop chop, Granger."
"You're a menace. I don't know how you keep any friends," she retorted flatly and set to chop some ingredients. She noticed Malfoy didn't quip back.
"How did you get your father to quash the sentence?" she asked after a few minutes of silence.
"I asked - he listened," answered Malfoy, tone void of any emotion. He spoke again, changing the subject. "It should only take a fortnight for the potion to set, which is perfect timing with the end of term around the corner. Hopefully, it all goes well."
Good. So he is aware enough to know they might fail.
"Where's Myrtle?" she questioned. Hermione anticipated having the ghost girl to deal with.
"Dunno," answered Malfoy.
"That's odd. I thought she would be a bit nosy."
Draco simply shrugged and began preparing the cauldron.
They prepped the dry ingredients first, then moved on to the liquids, working in silence aside from a comment or suggestion here and there. The brew was complex, and the ingredients had to be added at specific intervals. When it came to the point where there were no more ingredients to prep, and the two were simply waiting, the pair slowly began making small talk. It was painfully awkward and stilted. Finally, Hermione couldn't take it anymore and decided to pick a topic she knew he'd appreciate.
Why must she always be the bigger person?
"The Quidditch World Cup is this year," she started, hoping this topic wouldn't backfire. Draco's face lit up slightly but quickly returned to a blank expression.
"It is," he said flatly. Hermione was about to roll her eyes, but then he continued with slightly more humanity in his tone. "I'm hoping for Bulgaria to win. The Seeker, Viktor Krum, is only eighteen and statistically one of the best of all time."
"Mhmm," replied Hermione. The name sounded familiar, and she was sure Ron had mentioned him.
"Unfortunately, he has to carry the team," he added as he began to stir the potion for thirty seconds. "And then there is Ireland - they're a solid team. The talent is evenly distributed, but none of the players are exceptional in their own right."
"So it comes down to an exceptional individual to dominate or the more subtle group effort," said Hermione, happy to have found some sort of flow to a real conversation.
Draco stopped stirring and waited another thirty seconds before starting again. "Exactly. And as much as I'd like to see Krum take the victory, I predict that Ireland will ultimately win."
"Why's that?"
Draco shrugged. "A man can only carry so much weight on his own. The World Cup isn't an ordinary match, Granger - it's high stakes. There's bound to be unbelievable pressure. It's a matter of physics. Enough pressure on a single point versus an even distribution. The pressure would feel overwhelming to an individual, but if one shared the load, it would be negligible and easy to perform."
Hermione hadn't thought about that in the context of sports. "Makes sense," she said in a friendly tone. But then her next thought struck her. Physics? She knew the Wizarding world had understood physics to a degree. The concept was intermingled throughout Wizarding subjects. But the term 'physics' was a Muggle term, and the fact that Malfoy used the term so casually was…odd. She was about to ask him about his knowledge of Muggle science, but he spoke first.
"Looks right," said Malfoy before he picked up the brew and hid it in a secluded spot to set for the next two weeks. "We'll meet back here at the same time a day before exams begin."
Then, before she could even agree, he was gone.
...
The following two weeks went by in a flurry. Hermione burned the candle at both ends, times two, trying to prepare for her impossible exam schedule. But, before she could reach the finish line, she had a standing appointment with Draco Malfoy to prove she was, in fact, Muggle-born.
As Hermione walked towards the toilets, she began to panic. What if when he sees that she's genuinely Muggle-born, he torments her more than before?
Or worse.
What if she isn't a Muggle-born and Malfoy was right?
Hermione quickly laughed the thought away. It wasn't possible. And even if she did have some magical heritage, that still didn't make her even close to being a pure-blood.
Malfoy would still have to get over this strange obsession of his.
Hermione entered the bathroom and saw, once again, Malfoy was waiting for her with Myrtle nowhere to be found. He had already pulled out the cauldron and ladled the brew into small glass jars resembling miniature inkwells.
"You have two?" she questioned.
"Figured we should have a control tapestry," he said softly. "I've studied the Malfoy family tree enough to know how it should look -" he sniffed - "For the most part."
Right, he must expect to find a few additions that might not be included in the tapestries of his ancestral home.
"Smart," she stated, deciding not to bait him.
They both wordlessly pricked their fingers to add to the individual potions. Hermione dipped an unused quill into the blood potion while Malfoy handed her the tapestry before he dipped his own quill.
"You first," he said.
"Alright."
Hermione gently placed the quill's tip at the bottom of the tapestry. It was supposed to start from her name and branch backwards as far as the tapestry would allow. Of course, the bigger the tapestry, the further back it could go. Judging by the size of the tapestries Malfoy acquired, there wasn't much space - maybe only three or four generations - which struck Hermione as odd. Wouldn't he want her Blood Tapestry to go back as far as possible to see if there was a random Squib and hold it over her head that she's not entirely Muggle-born?
Hermione nervously looked up to see Malfoy watching her intently before she glanced back down. Sure enough, her name appeared, then her parents, grandparents and great-grandparents before stopping. "Oh, my god," she exclaimed.
"What? What is it?" he asked, wide-eyed.
"My father has a half-brother he never told me about! Apparently, my granddad had an affair!"
Malfoy rolled his eyes.
She then flipped the tapestry so Malfoy could see. "But like I already told you - I'm completely Muggle-born." Hermione was reeling at discovering an unknown uncle but was relieved that everything else was in order. The annotation of 'Muggle' was next to each name other than Hermione's, which had the annotation of 'Muggle-born.'
She looked over to see Malfoy's disappointment, but he wasn't even paying attention to her. In fact, he hadn't even glanced at her tapestry. Instead, he was gently placing his own quill on his own tapestry. She watched as he examined it, brow furrowed.
"What? A few more Malfoy Squibs than you thought? God forbid a Muggle thrown in the lot?" she chuckled.
He quickly shrugged his shoulders, folded up the tapestry, and stuffed it in his pocket. "A few, but I'd already expected as much," he said haughtily.
"Now what?" she asked, watching Malfoy quickly clean up the cauldron and vanish the evidence of their extracurricular activities. He then picked up his school bag and made ready to leave.
"Now I know you're nothing but a filthy Mudblood who stole their magic and flaunts it around without any care for tradition or understanding of what it means to be magical," he said coldly as he brushed passed her but then stopped short. "Don't ever speak to me about this again," he continued. "We're not friends, and this never happened."
Hermione was rooted to her spot. When her brain finally righted itself from the whiplash of Draco's cycling emotions, she turned to speak, but he was already gone.
His words echoed in her mind.
We're not friends.
She never suggested such! Did he think she was such a sod that she assumed one amicable conversation about Quidditch two weeks ago made them friends?
That utter prat.
She felt the Time-Turner she had hidden in her pocket, took a cleansing breath and did her best to shift her thoughts back to all the exams she would be taking the next day.
Smashing way to end Third Year.
...
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...
Summer 1994: Quidditch World Cup
"What's this?" she asked, already knowing what the fabric was, just confused about why he gave it to her.
"An explanation."
She furrowed her brow in confusion, but then he jutted his chin, a gesture for her to unfold the tapestry. Hermione rolled her eyes and carefully unfolded the item. Her initial reaction was simply confusion as she read over its contents, but it quickly turned to shock.
"Oh," was all she could utter.
"Oh," he echoed.
Hermione stared at the words on the tapestry in her hand. "This is the one from when we…."
"Yes."
Hermione glanced over to see if Ginny was coming back for her. Luckily the young ginger was in the middle of being chased by Fred a ways off, caught up in the moment and jovial atmosphere of the campsite.
"Did you know?" she asked gently, unsure how to proceed.
Malfoy took a shuddering breath. "I suspected - something was off. Just not this off."
"I don't understand."
Draco then made a noise between a giggle and a sob if ever such a thing could occur. "Never thought I'd hear those words come from that yap of yours."
Hermione let the slight go and read over the names that did not include any that of House Malfoy or House Black.
In fact, the names were foreign.
She glanced up at Malfoy, who was staring at the tapestry in her hands as if still trying to solve a puzzle.
"Swedish," he finally said. "I tried to research but given…well…there wouldn't be any mention of them in any genealogy books back at the manor library."
"Right," Hermione agreed. Made sense.
"And this -" she said as her finger hovered over the name at the bottom "- is you?" she finished softly.
"Apparently."
"Were you adopted?" she questioned, but the look on Draco's face as he took the tapestry back into his hands suggested that the Malfoys weren't the sort to do that. "Merlin, you think that you were -" she said with wide eyes.
"I initially thought adoption, but adoption doesn't exist in pure-blood culture. And even if it did, I doubt that would have happened in this scenario given -" he tapped his finger on the tapestry.
"Right."
The one word that stood out among the rest.
Hermione was shocked.
Yes, the unfamiliar names were a definite surprise, much like the coldness of the phrase 'baby boy' written at the bottom, indicating the parents never named their child.
But what was most shocking was the single moniker just to the right.
Muggle-born.
Draco Malfoy was a Muggle-born.