Mudblood
She tosses her head and her hair ripples around her, gloriously red. Her eyes gaze into his, green as grass. She is so young, so slim, so happy. So unlike the women of his own class. So unlike his wife. He reaches out for her and pulls her to himself and she responds willingly, fitting her body to his. Her mouth on his is sweet, her body soft against his.
Beside him, Narcissa shifts and turns over, jerking him awake, away from his dream.
He sits up abruptly, realising where he is. He does not even know the girl's name, but she has haunted his dreams since he saw her in Diagon Alley last week. He remembers a little girl with the same red hair being sorted into Gryffindor years ago. She was a Mudblood. Is it the same girl? He should not be dreaming of a Mudblood.
He lies back down and reaches for his wife.