Dirty Blood

Oh, dear Merlin! Oh, I knew--I knew from the very beginning that this was a terrible idea. That filthy Mudblood and I paired together made a terrible Head Boy and Head Girl. It was the one thing that we agreed upon. Did anyone listen, though? No, and look where it got us. Hermione Granger is lying dead in our common room, and I have her blood on my hands. She had it coming--Malfoys don't kill without reason. When I was first told that Mudblood and I would be working together, I knew then that this could never end well.

"Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger, you have the honor of being Head Boy and Head Girl next year," Dumbledore said cheerily. His blue eyes sparkled knowingly as I felt my face wrinkle in disgust. "I am well aware that you both have no desire to be working together, but I have hope that if you can get along, the school can unite," he explained, smiling at Hermione.

"But, sir, isn't there someone more... qualified than Malfoy? His grades are less than average, and he has a history of being somewhat of a bully. You really ought to reconsider," Hermione pleaded, glancing nervously my way.

I rolled my eyes. "No need to be so polite, Granger. We all know about your nasty habit of hexing people you don't like," I drawled To be honest, it appeared that every year I was hexed, jinxed, or cursed into some vile form or another-- and she always was at the root of it.

Dumbledore chuckled, unfazed by our complaints. "I have thought this through very carefully. This is how things will be, and I will not change my mind. You won't have to share a dorm or anything like that. The only things you will share are duties, some of your regular classes, and a common room that you only need use if you want to use it. Lemon drop?" he said, offering us a bowl of strange Muggle candy. I made another face. Miss Goody-Two-Shoes, however, took one.

"Well, if you say so, Professor, then I'll try," Hermione at last relented.

They shifted their eyes towards me. No, I would not give in. I am a Malfoy, and Malfoys always get their way in the end. "Mr. Malfoy, I will not take 'no' for an answer. You both are dismissed," Dumbledore said, clearly hell bent on my accepting of the position.

"Sir, I can't possibly work with a Mud--" I began before being cut off.

"No excuses--and five points from Slytherin for language. Head Boys should have cleaner mouths." Dumbledore winked at Hermione, who seemed caught between wanting to cry and wanting to scream at me.

Her blood. On my hands. It's so bright and red. Idiot headmaster. Had he listened, Hermione would have remained herself. She would not have been abused, blackmailed, or harmed (at least until Lord Voldemort needed her). For a Mudblood, she was pretty--this fact must never be repeated to a single soul. Unfortunately, she had an ungodly amount of self-confidence and determination. She just couldn't understand that I was her superior or that I had grown up in a twisted environment and thus should not be tempted.

"Move, Granger," I ordered, towering over her petite self. She was blocking my way out of our common room, and I rather had to go to the restroom. I paused, giving her a moment to obey my command. When she did not, I repeated myself. "I said 'move', you filthy Mudblood!"

"No. I am sick of you bringing in your Slytherin whores every single night. This room is for us to study in, not for... entertainment purposes," she said, clearly flustered at the idea of sex going on in the very room she was standing in. Her cheeks were the color of a Weasley's hair.

I laughed. "Grow up, Mudblood. Why don't tonight you bring in your lapdog, Weasel? Or does he still faint at sight of you?" I said, taking a step towards her. Despite everyone's knowledge that the two were quite in love, neither Ron nor Hermione had bothered to proclaim their feelings to one another and instead blushed and giggled every time they spoke. It's bloody stupid, if you ask me.

Clearly, I had invaded her personal bubble, because she pushed me away. "All you are, Malfoy, is one lost, frightened little boy hiding behind this façade of cruelty. I feel very, very sorry for you," she said in a hushed voice. The most amusing part was that she clearly believed this to be true. I know who I am. A Death Eater, a cruel one.

"Piss off," I said, beginning to get somewhat angry. All I wanted was to leave and go to the restroom.

"Not until you promise not to bring people in here!"

"I, Draco Malfoy, hereby promise never to bring another soul into this room. Happy?" I asked. If I could just get past her, I could relieve my bladder and then speak with Hermione when I was not being forced to cross my legs.

She frowned. "If you're lying, I'll hex you and then tell Dumbledore about your sexual escapades," she said. I knew she wouldn't, though; Hermione couldn't barely talk to me about it without blushing, much less Dumbledore. It was the hexing that concerned me.

I did the only thing I could think of, what with a bladder on the verge of explosion and the threat of being hexed. I pushed her out of the way. When I returned five minutes later, feeling much relieved, I found that she had hit her head on a cabinet, but other than that, she was fine.

However, I soon discovered that Ginny Weasley was not the only person with a nasty Bat-Bogey Hex.

Blood. On my hands. Her blood. Father would be proud, but am I proud? I killed someone, without magic. It was her fault. She should never have yelled at me, never insulted me, never have hexed me. It stung. Her words penetrated my flesh, and with every jab, I lost one more piece of logic. Hermione Granger pissed me off, and now she's dead. But why does she look so clean? She's a Mudblood. Where is the dirt?

"Malfoy, my potions essay is missing," Hermione said grumpily, staring at a table piled high with parchment and various books.

I looked over at her from my chair. "What? You think I took it?" How dare she accuse me of theft! Okay, so perhaps I did take it, but such is not my point.

"I merely find it odd that it was here when I left for Gryffindor tower and now that I have returned, it is missing," she cried, exasperated. I thoroughly enjoyed pushing her buttons.

Shrugging, I flipped through a book. "You took it with you, let you lapdogs copy it, and forgot it. Or, you were sleeping with someone and left it on a nightstand," I said. I counted to three mentally, waiting for her to explode. Bookworms took sexual jokes far too seriously.

She gasped, turning a shade of red that I had never before seen on a human being. "Are you implying that I'm a prostitute?" she asked, appalled.

I rolled my eyes. "Prostitutes make money; who would pay to sleep with a Mudblood?" I asked nonchalantly, not bothering to look up from my book.

"Apologize," she ordered angrily. She was practically steaming with furiousness and embarrassment. I almost felt guilty when I looked up and noted that she was dangerously close to tears.

"Malfoys never apologize--least of all not to Mudbloods." I graced her by giving her direct eye contact. Hermione put her hand in her pocket, very tempted to grab her wand, but then thought better of it. Without a word, she spun on her heel and left the room. I snorted in amusement. No one could win against a Malfoy. It just wasn't possible.

The next day in potions, my cauldron exploded, and I was forced to stay in the Hospital Wing for a week. It was ruled a "most unfortunate accident" by Dumbledore, but I saw Harry and Ron chuckling as bits of cauldron embedded themselves in my skin.

There is pounding on the door. Someone must have heard her scream. "Hannah, go get a teacher!" someone hissed on the other side. What to do? There is blood on my hands. Her blood. She's dead, and despite my father's money, I highly doubt that Dumbledore would allow me to slip off the hook. Her blood. It's red; it's human. Where is the dirt, the filth? Mudbloods are dirty, unclean, but Hermione's blood gleams crimson. The pools of red liquid on the floor are the same. Where is the mud? I back myself into the corner, transfixed by her body. "Draco, open the door, please," the headmaster requests from outside.

"Malfoy, I am going to go to the headmaster if you continue to harass me," Hermione proclaimed.

I sighed, annoyed. "How, dearest Mudblood am I harassing you?" I closed one of her books, Hogwarts: A History. It was a truly dull book--I haven't a clue how anyone could read it.

"By calling me names. I have tried to be kind and understanding, and Harry even allowed you to come to DA meetings, but what have you shown us in return? The same hatred as before!" she cried, throwing her hands into the air. It always amused me how, when riled up, a girl tossed her hands up as if it was the magic cure for whatever was wrong.

"What? Are we supposed to be best friends? The only reason I bothered with the DA meetings is because I learn useful information from them," I stopped suddenly, realizing what I had just said.

Hermione gave a small gasp. "You--you're giving information to the other side? Oh, Merlin!" she said, her voice rising higher and higher with each word. She immediately began to hurry towards the exit.

Unfortunately for her, my chair happened to be located close to the door. "Where do you think you're going?" I asked, jumping up and blocking her path.

Of course, we both knew that she was making a beeline to Dumbledore. She pulled out her wand, "Stup--" I grabbed the wand from her small hand and snapped it. Hermione's face contorted with fear. "I'll scream," she said quietly.

"I don't particularly care," I whispered as I locked the door magically.

"Why?" she asked, edging slowly away. To where, I had no clue.

Sighing, I fished around in my pocket. At Christmas, Blaise had given me a pocketknife that I carried around when Goyle and Crabbe weren't with me. We always joked that I used it to see if someone had mud in their veins or not. I decided that tonight I would find out. "You're a Mudblood," I said, pulling it out of my robes, "Here's to dirty blood." I stabbed her, and she screamed. She screamed until I slit her throat. Then I noticed how clean her blood was.

"Draco Malfoy, you are charged with the murder of Hermione Granger. How do you plead?" The room buzzes with tension. What will he say? they wonder.

"Innocent," I say to the Wizengamot. You can't murder someone with dirty blood--blood makes you human. Even if I couldn't see the mud, I know it was there.