For notes, please see Chapter 1.
Before he made his way to breakfast, where he should blessedly be on time for once, Draco stepped into a vacant classroom along the dungeon corridor leading from Slytherin's common room. He wasn't entirely sure if this would work at Hogwarts the same way it did at home, but it was at least worth trying. Taking a deep breath, he said very clearly to the empty room, "If one of the servants is present, reveal yourself."
Immediately a soft pop announced the arrival of a tiny House-elf right in front of him wearing a clean bath towel. Draco smiled. At least some things were the same everywhere.
"How is we to be helping, Sir?" the elf asked.
"I want you to make up a birthday cake," Draco ordered at once, assuming the usual tone of command he used with the group of House-elves at the manor. "Make the cake chocolate, but with white frosting and decorated with roses or buttercups or sparkles or purple unicorns or whatever it is girls like. And it needs to have 'Happy Birthday Hermione' written on it."
"Yes, Sir. We is taking care of it. Where would Sir be wanting it?" the elf asked with a little bow.
"Have it brought to the top of the Astronomy Tower at, oh, 7:15 this evening," he said, then added in an appropriately threatening tone nearly worthy of his father, "and mind you make it a nice one. If you misspell her name or something stupid like that, you'll be in for it but good."
"We is to be checking the school's list of students' names to make sure. She is a student, yes?" the elf asked, looking rather less terrified than the Malfoy elves usually did when presented with the possibility of grievous bodily harm. He felt a little disappointed.
"Yes, she is," Draco said. "Oh, and add candles. Twelve of them, lit, slow-burning, and non-melting so they won't spoil the frosting, of course."
"Very good, Sir. We is doing as you ask. It is a pleasure to serve, Sir," the elf said, then disappeared once again with another quiet pop.
There, he thought, continuing towards breakfast with a much better appetite than when he'd left his dormitory. That ought to smooth things over considerably. Granted, he was still more than a bit leery over whether the House-elves were going to spell her name correctly. He shuddered as the nightmarish possibility of a cake wishing a happy birthday to Herbert, Hepsibah, or possibly Ermine Minnie flashed in front of his eyes. Well, if anything like that occurred, he'd simply report the offending elf to the proper authorities and have it hung by its ankles for a few days.
He had reached the Great Hall by now, and he was still early enough to be able to get a full serving of eggs and kippers with a cup of tea. Goyle and Crabbe came up to breakfast looking rather sleepy, but then they usually did at this time in the morning. Actually, now that he thought of it, they looked rather bleary most of the time.
"Sleep well, lads?" he asked as he spread a generous layer of butter on his toast.
Crabbe looked at Goyle, and they both shook their heads.
"Up too late," Goyle said.
"Yeah, that wasn't exactly according to plan," Draco said with a wince. "At any rate, we've got Binns this morning so you'll have plenty of time to cadge a nap."
Crabbe smiled at this, then heaped more porridge on his spoon and slurped it into his mouth. Draco noticed that he actually chewed it. Who chewed porridge? He had no idea why, but he found that oddly disturbing.
Pansy, Blaise, and Theodore weren't as unforgiving as they had been yesterday, but they were certainly anything but chatty. Even Millicent was rather frosty. It was a very uncomfortable feeling, being the object of dislike and anger rather than the center of adoration, and Draco suddenly found he didn't have much of an appetite for his breakfast after all. He would simply have to find a way to even things with the rest of the House. The best way would have been to bring them a victory against Gryffindor in Quidditch with himself as Seeker, and that couldn't be arranged for at least a year due to Dumbledore's ridiculous rule, which he'd bent almost immediately for Potter. It really was aggravating. He tried to focus on that emotion rather than the unsettling feeling of knowing he had… not made a mistake, of course, but… miscalculated, perhaps, in the affair of the Rememberall. It certainly hadn't ended how he would have liked: with Potter on the train back to the Muggles. A glance at the Gryffindor table showed he was still being lauded by all the others as their personal hero, the youngest Weasley boy obviously hanging on every word he spoke. Disgusting.
Suddenly, the mail arrived, and the shadows of the owls bringing parcels and letters dotted the tablecloths as they swooped to their owners. Persephone landed in front of Draco carrying what he was sure was a letter written on his mother's silver-grey stationery, and he gave the bird his unfinished kippers as a treat. At least Persephone was still fond of him, he thought, as she daintily picked them apart, then gave his hand an affectionate peck before leaving for the owlery once again. He was just about to open the letter when he glanced over at the Gryffindor table and frowned at the scene in front of him.
Hermione was sitting alone in what had obviously become her customary place at the end of the table. That was depressing enough on her birthday, but he noted that she didn't seem to have received any mail on top of it. Her parents hadn't bothered to send her a present or at least a card if they really were too poor for such things? What was almost as disturbing was her expression of resignation. It was as though she were expecting just this to happen.
Draco was pondering exactly how he would pitch the most glorious tantrum if his parents had ever forgotten his birthday when the students began to move towards their first class of the day. Not wanting to be late, he started towards History of Magic, but he looked over his shoulder once to be sure of what he'd seen. No one should look that sad on their birthday, he thought as he took in Hermione gathering her books together and slogging off alone down the corridor, Parvati and Lavender giving her a wide berth.
Draco spent Binns's class (a lecture on the historical importance of Bowtruckles in Scandinavia) plotting. His parchment, on which he supposed he really should have taken notes on the dates of the Great Bowtruckle Rebellion of 1465 and the subsequent environmental impact of the glut of woodlice on the northern forests of Sweden, was instead covered in moving (though admittedly crude) diagrams of the broomshed near the Quidditch pitch, the Astronomy Tower, and a House-elf swinging from chains on its toes connected to the rafters in the Great Hall. He'd gotten a bit distracted, but he still thought he knew what he needed to do to make everything work just so.
By the time they left Binns and walked over to Sprout's greenhouse, Draco had concocted quite a plan. In fact, he was fairly certain it would do the Malfoy name proud. At any rate, despite the truly revolting tasks he needed to accomplish that day, namely removing weeds from a bed of Flutterby Bushes, which required him to scrub dirt from underneath his fingernails later, he was in a better mood once again. The rest of the Slytherins seemed a bit put off that someone who was supposed to be in disgrace seemed bothered so little by all he'd done to offend the House, but he decided that at the moment he didn't care.
Instead of going directly back to the common room with the rest of the Slytherins to drop off his books and then on to lunch, Draco stayed behind, pretending to tie a loose shoelace and managing to drop out of line without Professor Sprout noticing. As soon as he was quite sure that she was gone, he darted off behind the rows of greenhouses and headed towards the Quidditch pitch. It was deserted at this time of day, which was exactly what he was counting on. This would all be so much easier if first years were allowed their own brooms, but the school rules didn't say there was an issue with riding the Hogwarts brooms kept in the shed. Granted, he wasn't certain that he was supposed to be taking them without the permission of Professor Hooch, but as she wasn't about at the moment, he couldn't really be held responsible for that, could he? At least that was the angle he was going to use if he got caught.
Very carefully, he crept to the door of the shed, ready for a large padlock, anti-burglary charms, perhaps even a guard creature of some kind, maybe a small dragon. What he found, however, was not at all what he expected. A sign on the doorknob read in large purple letters "School Brooms – Borrow as Needed, Return When Done."
"Well, that was an anticlimactic," he said, feeling stupid as he went inside and carefully selected two of the least battered brooms available.
Granted, none of these third-rate contraptions was good enough for a Malfoy to settle his backside upon, but he supposed he had to make allowances. Still, he thought as he held the handles to the sunlight and checked for warping along the tail twigs, their not being world class racing brooms might be an advantage. They shouldn't take off like a banshee at any rate. Then he remembered Neville's accident and realized that he couldn't really be sure of that either. Shrugging since it couldn't be helped, he climbed on the slightly stouter broom, tucked the other under his arm, and kicked off from the ground, heading straight for the Astronomy Tower and landing with barely a noise on its stone floor.
As he'd thought, the tower was completely deserted during daylight hours. He carefully placed the two brooms out of sight behind a set of turrets, looked about thoughtfully, and nodded at the location. Yes, he thought, this was going to work just fine. Absolutely nothing could go wrong. He was still young enough and foolish enough not to realize that was a terribly dangerous thing to think.
Draco ducked down the trap door to the spiral staircase that led to the Astronomy Tower, and by the time he reached the fifth floor corridor where it exited, he was a bit dizzy but still remarkably cheerful. He darted up the next tower to the owlery, and after waking Persephone from a sound sleep and getting a far less affectionate peck for his trouble than the one at breakfast, he took a quill and parchment from his bag and jotted a quick note.
H,
Things didn't exactly go as I planned last night, but there is a perfectly logical explanation for what happened. Meet me on the top of the Astronomy Tower at 6:30 tonight
D
He had actually spent a good three minutes wondering whether to make the last sentence end in a full stop or a question mark. Making it a statement would have been his usual preference, automatically assuming that she would want to be there, but under the circumstances it smacked a bit too much of a command. A well-mannered wizard does not command a pure-blood young lady unless it is absolutely necessary, as his father had taught him. But the question mark seemed to suggest weakness, perhaps even begging. Persephone was giving him a very annoyed look by now, so he opted not to decide at all and simply let the sentence end with no punctuation. As soon as the note was bound to her leg, Persephone took off from the window.
Draco had the afternoon free, so he spent his time doing the homework Binns had assigned (two feet of parchment on the Bowtruckle/Hinkypunk Alliance of 1542) as well as lazily paging his way through the next chapter of the text for Sprout's class. To his complete lack of surprise, it once again centered on dirt. So far as Draco was concerned, the only thing one needed to know about dirt was it was dirty. Beyond that was the realm of House-elves.
He was staring up at the canopy of his bed and beginning to doze a bit, feeling happier than he had in a while and fully confident that Hermione would understand completely once she heard what had really happened, when Persephone abruptly alighted next to his head and tapped him squarely between the eyes.
"Ow! Fine, fine, give me a moment," he said blearily, sitting up.
The owl extended her leg, and he took the small bit of paper tied to her leg and read it.
Drake,
I really do have quite a bit of homework, but I suppose I can be there.
H
Draco read the message at least three times through.
"That's odd," he asked after having carefully turned the paper over and moved his thumb to be certain that he hadn't missed any of the message again. "She really intended to spend her birthday just doing homework? That's… sad."
Another unaccustomed sensation spread around his chest, almost like heartburn. He realized that it was very much like feeling that someone had done something horrid to him instead of her. He was so unfamiliar with the concept of sympathy that it took him a while to work out what he was feeling at all. He huffed loudly, then dismissed the feeling. Things were going to get much better for her soon.
Still, the note was rather brief, almost terse, and it nearly sounded like she had seriously considered choosing homework over his summons. Well, that was impossible, and of course she also used her nickname for him, which seemed friendly enough. Finally, he decided he was probably reading far too much into eighteen words, two of which were single letters, and started to get ready for the next bit of his plan.
By the time he was about to go up to dinner, he had emptied out his bookbag and replaced the usual parchments and texts with a few carefully chosen items. He slung the bag artfully over his shoulder, then went upstairs to his customary spot between Crabbe and Goyle. He barely noticed the food, which was adequately roasted leg of lamb, chewing automatically and keeping a watchful eye on the Gryffindor table as he listened with one ear while Crabbe explained how he had accidentally set his own robes on fire while trying to remove a stain from Potions.
"That class was days ago," Draco said, still watching as the bushy-haired object of his attention ate completely alone.
"Yeah, but I didn't notice it until now," Crabbe said. "It only started eating through the fabric this morning. Do you think it shows much?"
"Uh huh," Draco said. "That's great. I'll see you later."
By the time Crabbe had squinted in response to what Draco had said, the other boy was already half-sprinting away from the table (though to his credit he was at least attempting to sprint with predatory grace). He didn't slow his pace until he reached the stairs to the Astronomy Tower. Taking a breath and smoothing his hair, he proceeded to climb the stairs in less of a rush if for no other reason than not to get dizzy again.
Just as he reached the trap door, he heard another set of feet start up the stairway far below him. He looked down and just caught sight of the top of Hermione's head rounding one of the turns, and he grinned. Quickly, he opened the door and added the items from his bookbag to the brooms hidden behind the turrets, then stepped back and leaned casually against the wall. When Hermione opened the door, he gave a half bow and smiled at her.
"Happy birthday, Mademoiselle d'Arc," he said.
"You remembered?" she said, looking surprised.
"Obviously," he replied, but it still unnerved him how little she seemed to expect anyone to pay attention to her. That had to stop. "Have you had a good birthday?"
"Well, fair, I suppose," she said, and he noticed she didn't look at him when she said it.
"It's about to get better," he said firmly. "I've got a surprise or two up my sleeve, or behind the turret, as the case may be."
Struting over to his hidden treasures, he produced the two broomsticks. Hermione gave a rather forced looking smile laced with a certain amount of panic. It wasn't really the reaction he'd been going for.
"Don't worry," he said. "It's only me. We'll just practice a bit, and you'll be flying in no time."
"And if I fall off and kill myself?" she blurted out suddenly.
"You won't," Draco said, looking at her, surprised that she'd even think it. "You're already best in the school in practically everything, well, except for me of course. You'll get the hang of it in no time at all."
Hermione grimaced, but she gingerly took the handle of the broom he offered her, treating it like a poisonous snake that might bite her at any moment.
"I just really don't like heights," she said, shuddering. "I had a bad fall once when I was about five years old. I was just playing about with one of my cousins, and I ended up going backwards down a whole flight of stairs. I don't know how I didn't break my neck."
"Magic, probably," Draco said. "It happens to the best of us, self-preservation taking over. But I can see how that would be unnerving."
Actually, the words terrifying, sickening, and sweat-inducing leaped to mind, but he thought it was probably better not to say those.
"All right then," Hermione said, nodding with determination and looking at the broomstick with a decidedly clinical air, almost as though it were one of Sprout's particularly nasty plants. "Let's get this done."
"You might actually enjoy it, you know," Draco said with a laugh. "Okay, first, just relax. Remember that even though it can fly, it's only a piece of wood with some fancy charms on it. You're the one in charge because you're the one telling it what to do."
"I'm the boss," Hermione said with slow determination.
"Precisely," Draco said. "So what do you want that stick to do?"
Hermione looked at it uncertainly for a moment before she said, "Hover at an appropriate mounting height."
The broom twitched, then vibrated as it floated to roughly the right height for Hermione to sit on it.
"There you go," Draco said. "It wants to be told what to do. All you have to do is decide what it should be doing, tell it, and it shouldn't give you trouble."
Like a House-elf, Draco thought, but that was a whole other conversation.
"Fine," Hermione said. "Now I suppose I should actually, well, sit on it, right?"
"That's the general idea unless you want to just hang off of it by your fingernails. That actually worked fairly well for the Norwegian Seeker in the Quidditch World Cup a few years ago, but I don't think I'd suggest it at this point," Draco said, feigning seriousness.
Hermione snatched her hand back from the broom handle as though she was afraid of being burned, but almost immediately collected herself and reached out to grab it again. Carefully, she sat down, and smiled as she realized that nothing horrible was happening. Draco returned the smile, easily mounting his own broom.
"Might have to watch for splinters on these things," he said wrinkling up his nose in disgust, "but I did try to pick the best of the lot. That's not saying much, though. Think you're up for a bit of ride?"
Hermione paused for a moment before saying, "Okay." It was an infinitesimal pause, but enough that Draco could still tell she was nervous.
"Easy, then. Just push off a tiny bit with your toes, and the broom should take over your weight and stay put a few inches above the floor," Draco said.
"And if I launch myself off like Neville did?" Hermione said in a rush.
"First, you are not Neville. I've no idea what he did, but I think you've got as much chance of pulling that stunt as of accidentally melting your wand, which I would not put past him, by the way. Second, I'm right here. If something bizarre happens, I promise you, I will help you. Okay?" Draco said.
"All right. I trust you," she said, and he didn't know why, but that made him happy.
"On three then," he said. "One, two . . ."
And on three she did indeed push off, just barely, and lo and behold, the broom behaved as a perfect gentleman and rested a few inches above the ground, steady as a rock.
"Well done!" he said. "Very good! Now try leaning back down to land again."
It worked exactly as planned, and Hermione's toes skimmed the stone pavement of the tower's roof, then rested fully once more.
"See? Not hard at all," Draco said. "You'll have this down in a blink."
"Well, not quite a blink," Hermione said, then setting her jaw determinedly, added, "but I will."
She had spirit, this one, he thought with a grin.
"Care to try actually flying a bit?" he said. "It's a lot more fun than just picking your toes up and putting them back down again."
She considered for a moment, squinting at the darkening sky and obviously making some sort of mental calculations as she tipped her head to one side in what he realized was a characteristic gesture.
"Maybe," she said, "but I think I'd rather see how it's done first before I try it entirely on my own. Being able to model how to handle a broom by watching someone who knows what he's doing might be the most useful course of action. Would you show me?"
"Okay," he said, hopping on the handle with practiced ease even if it wasn't his own broomstick. Then, struck with an idea, he inched forward along the handle, then looked over his shoulder at her. "Well? Getting on or not?"
"Oh!" she said, obviously surprised. "I hadn't thought of, well…"
"The best way to see is to be as close as possible to the action," he said.
"I suppose so," she said, still sounding rather uncertain. "I mean, well, you won't go too high or fast, right?"
"Of course not," he said, but there might have been a bit of a gleam in his eyes, and it's just possible that his fingers may have been crossed. "Just climb on and grab hold."
With a deep breath, Hermione settled herself carefully behind him on the broomstick, grabbing him rather tighter about the waist than was entirely comfortable for breathing, and he was relatively sure she had her face thrust into the back of his shoulders with both eyes shut.
"Okay, ready," she said in a voice that sounded as though it was muffled in the back of his robes.
He couldn't suppress a grin as he did, very carefully, hover over the pavement by a few inches and start to drift slowly to the right at barely a snail's pace.
"How high are we?" came the same muffled voice.
"Take a peek and see," he said, and he felt her shift slightly.
"That's not bad at all!" Hermione said, sounding much clearer. "I think I can handle this well enough."
"Good," Draco said, and with a simple switch of direction, he glided over the parapet on the end of the Astronomy Tower so they were suspended at a truly dizzying height. "Now we get to the fun!"
There was a small wheezing sound in back of him, but the important bit was she hadn't let go. In fact he was rather amazed by the strength of her grip and almost looked over his shoulder to see whether Hagrid had replaced her.
"Oh, fine! Just go for it!" she yelled, right in his ear actually, and he laughed delightedly as he started to circle the tower lower and lower in a dizzying spiral, then sped off across the grounds in the sunset.
It was a perfect evening for a flight. The sky was clear, the warm air of the day was carrying the promise of the nip of autumn in it, and owls were beginning to awaken and take flight, joining them as Draco headed towards the lake. He dipped lower, almost skimming the water with their shoes but keeping them both entirely dry. He zigged and zagged, following the shoreline at a distance and watching their reflection in the dark water below. Hermione was maybe, perhaps, starting to relax a tiny bit, though that grip was still remarkably impressive. The sun faded slowly away, and a small number of fireflies, still in residence from the summer months, flickered over the lake and darted between the trunks of the Forbidden Forest. At least he thought they were fireflies. They might be fairies, now that he thought of it.
"Better?" he asked over his shoulder.
"I think so," she said. "I'm still not entirely comfortable on this thing, but it's not as horrid as I thought it would be. It's actually rather nice, really."
"See? Not a thing to worry about. You'll do fine," he said, taking them back towards the Astronomy Tower. While it was technically out of bounds except for classes, he assumed that was for ordinary people. They weren't breaking curfew at any rate, and by now the House-elf should have delivered the cake. Yes, he saw with a grin, there was a soft glow coming from one spot on the tower, and he landed next to what even he had to admit was a very pretty birthday cake topped with roses and lit candles.
"Oh!" Hermione said, dismounting the broom rather awkwardly but looking nearly giddy at the sight of the cake. "Drake, it's lovely!"
"Yes, it is," he said approvingly as he retrieved his bookbag and took a wrapped parcel out from it. "Also, there's this. Happy birthday."
She looked completely stunned as she took the package and unwrapped it, revealing the box of chocolates from his favorite French chocolatier, Oiseau de Calais. It was quite a nice box, nothing enormous, but it was their signature pale lavender octagon filled with crèmes, nougats, and caramels. Draco was hoping that she would offer him at least a couple of pieces; flying always made him hungry. He was about to say something to the effect that it was one of the best wizarding chocolate houses in the world when he noticed Hermione was biting her lip and looking like she might be, quite terrifyingly, about to cry.
"What? Oh Merlin, you aren't allergic to chocolate are you?!" he said.
"No," she said, smiling. "No, not at all, I love chocolate. It's just, thank you. I really wasn't expecting anything for my birthday this year, and this is perfect."
Then she gave him a kiss on the cheek. He supposed that wasn't entirely acceptable in light of the fact he was betrothed to Pansy, but he didn't care at the moment. That was ages away, and anyway, Hermione was his friend, that's all.
"I suppose we'd better tuck in before the candles melt away," Hermione said.
"Oh, they're non-dripping," Draco said. "At least they'd better be. That's what I requested. But you need to make your wish first, of course."
"Give me a moment to let me think," Hermione said, grinning.
Draco was amused to see her knitting her eyebrows together, concentrating, at one point obviously choosing between two options, until finally she leaned forward and blew. The candles all went out at once, and he hooted in appreciation.
"First slice for the birthday girl," he said, wielding the knife the elf had left and cutting a piece for her, being sure to put a particularly perfect rose on top, but just as she was about to take it, he pulled it back and said, "and you'll get it just as soon as you tell me what you wished for."
"But then it won't come true!" she said reproachfully.
"Balderdash," he said. "That's nothing but a load of rubbishy superstition. Besides, I want to know!"
"Well, I'm not telling," Hermione said primly as she took the plate out of his hand. "I wished for a pony when I turned six and told my cousin Muriel, and I never did get one, so there."
"So not a pony then," Draco said.
"No, not a pony," Hermione said, taking a bite of her cake and closing her eyes in bliss. "Oh, whoever made this did a perfect job of it."
Draco nodded in satisfaction. Obviously his threats had worked, and after taking a bite himself, he was convinced that the Hogwarts elves might even surpass Dobby in the kitchen. The cake was the most wonderful one he'd ever tasted. It was one of those moments of pure, simple bliss. Everything had gone precisely as he'd planned, and as the stars popped out one by one in the fully darkened sky, he couldn't recall a time when he had been happier. He had a friend and chocolate cake. Life was perfect.
"I'm so glad that wizards wish on birthday candles, too," Hermione said as she licked frosting off her fork. "That's always been my favorite part of birthdays."
"I'd wager you'd change the ranking if you'd got that pony," Draco said, then paused, feeling strangely cold. "What do you mean 'wizards wish on birthday candles, too'?"
"Well, I wasn't sure," Hermione said. "So much is different here. I'm still learning what the Muggle world and the wizarding world have in common and what they don't. It's really all quite fascinating."
"But… why would you know about Muggles?" Draco asked. He felt sick. This couldn't be happening. It couldn't.
"Because that's what my parents are," Hermione said. "Until I got the letter from Hogwarts, I'd no idea about magic or any of the rest of it. I only knew I could do some strange things that puzzled Mum and Dad. I think I made it stop raining once when I wanted to go to the park when I was about five years old, and then Mum said that when I was a toddler, if we were visiting my Gran and she wanted to leave but I wanted to stay, her car keys would inexplicably disappear. I suppose that was rather naughty of me."
"Your parents are Muggles," Draco said quietly.
"Yes," Hermione said, looking up from her cake and peering at him quizzically. "Is something wrong? You look odd. You aren't sick, are you? Is it the cake? It tastes fine to me."
"No," Draco said. "No, I'm not sick."
The world was crashing around him, and he wasn't sure what to do about it. A loud roaring echoed in his ears, and he remembered every horrible story about Mudbloods, every joke, every warning from his parents about the importance of purity and freedom from contamination from lesser witches and wizards who were pretenders or worse. He had gotten to his feet without realizing it, and his hands were shaking uncontrollably.
"What is it?" Hermione said, her face frightened. "There is something wrong."
"You," he said, clenching his hands into fists in an effort to make them stop quivering, and his voice dropped. "It's you."
Hermione's mouth opened slightly, speechless, which some part of his brain told him was quite the accomplishment.
"You're a liar," he finally said, his words cold. "You're a stinking, no-good liar."
"Drake," Hermione said, her eyes wide, "I've never once ever lied to you!"
"Yes, you have!" and the words came out almost as a scream. "How dare you! How dare you pretend that you're real when you're nothing but a filthy Muggle-born! This whole time you've been laughing at me behind my back, thinking you're putting one over on your betters, or maybe trying to climb up the social ladder and make friends with someone who could give you a bit of respectability, you—you—Mudblood!"
"What are you—" Hermione stared at him. "I don't even know what that word means!"
"Then look it up in one of your precious books!" he yelled, still shaking.
"Draco, it shouldn't matter who my parents are or that I was raised in the Muggle world. I don't know what you think I'm doing, but I really am your friend," she said, reaching out to touch his arm, but he pulled away as though she had burned him. "I'm not pretending anything! You're… you're the only friend I have here."
"Yeah?" he said, screwing his face into a twisted, cutting sneer. "Well, you've got one less than that now!"
He saw tears well up in her eyes as though he had struck her, but in an instant he was already gone, back through the doors and down the stairs, his legs taking him faster and faster until the sound of his footsteps blurred into a rapid staccato. He didn't care about the broomsticks or the cake or Filch. All he wanted was to get as far away from her as he could. He reached the dungeons and the Slytherin common room faster than he thought possible. Millicent Bulstrode and Pansy were engaged in a particularly fierce battle of Exploding Snap that had practically everyone goggling at the size of their castle, which now consisted of no less than twenty-three decks of cards. That meant the first-year dormitory was empty.
Draco Malfoy was a pure-blood wizard. From birth, he had been taught not merely to hate Mudbloods but to despise and mock their existence, to believe that they were the most awful offense to his lineage that he could imagine. They were criminal, deranged, abnormal, perverse, an offense to nature. Everyone he had ever cared about or admired had told him that again and again. Hermione Granger, Mudblood, was therefore beneath his notice and unfit for decent company, certainly not his own.
But that night, whatever he had been told, whatever he had been raised to believe, Draco Malfoy, pure-blood, threw himself on his bed, closed the curtains around him, and cried himself to sleep, sobs shuddering through his body as he thought his heart would break in two.