Chapter 7: Mudblood

The corridor outside the Great Hall buzzed with the usual after lunch chaos, voices bouncing off stone and laughter echoing as students hurried to their next classes. I was walking with Hermione, still thinking about Fairbourne parchments and living threads, when a sharp voice cut through the noise. “Well if it is the little history lesson,” Draco Malfoy drawled. I stopped before I meant to. He leaned against the wall with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him like shadows. His pale eyes slid from Hermione to me, slow and deliberate, like he was weighing something. “I hear bloodlines are all the rage today,” he continued. “Funny how quickly some people get excited about being related to someone important.” Hermione stiffened beside me. “That is enough, Malfoy.” He smirked. “Touchy. I was only curious. After all, family history matters. Or it should.” His gaze locked on mine then, colder now. “Of course,” he added softly, “some people can dig through as many trees as they like. Still does not change what they are.” I knew what was coming before he said it. The word seemed to hang in the air already, heavy and ugly. “Mudblood.” It hit harder than I expected. Not because I did not know what it meant. I did. I had known for years. Born Muggle parents. Dirty blood, according to people like him. I had read it in books, heard it whispered, always at a distance. But hearing it said directly to me was different. It felt like the corridor tilted, like every sound pulled away at once. My chest tightened. My eyes burned. Malfoy watched closely, satisfaction flickering across his face when my breath caught. “See,” he said lightly. “Some threads are not worth pulling after all.” Hermione stepped forward, furious. “You do not get to say that. Ever.” “Or what,” he replied, amused. I tried to speak. I wanted to say something clever or sharp or brave. Instead my throat closed and the tears came, hot and unstoppable, blurring the stone walls and faces around us. I hated that he saw it. I hated that I could not stop. The corridor had gone quiet now. A few students stared openly. Others looked away, uncomfortable. Draco’s smirk faltered for just a second as my shoulders shook. “Real classy, Malfoy,” Ron’s voice snapped from behind us. “Picking on people in the hallway like that.” Draco scoffed, pushing off the wall. “Relax. It is only the truth.” Hermione’s voice shook with anger. “Get away from her.” For a moment I thought he might say something else. Something worse. But then Professor McGonagall’s sharp heels echoed at the far end of the corridor, and Malfoy straightened. “This is not over,” he said quietly, eyes on me. Not cruel now. Measuring. Then he turned and walked away, Crabbe and Goyle lumbering after him. Hermione’s arm was around my shoulders instantly. “Melody. Look at me.” I tried. My vision swam. “You are not what he says,” she said fiercely. “Do you hear me. That word means nothing.” I nodded, though it did not feel like nothing. It felt like a mark pressed into my skin. “I knew what it meant,” I whispered. “I just did not think it would hurt like that.” Ron shifted awkwardly. “He is an absolute git.” That made a shaky laugh break through my tears, which surprised me almost as much as it did them. Hermione squeezed me tighter. “Bloodlines are living threads,” she said quietly. “And that means they can be cut.” I wiped my eyes, breathing slowly until the hallway came back into focus. Malfoy had noticed us. And now I knew something else too. He had wanted me to break. Next time, I would not.