Draco's Mudblood - Draco Malfoy Fan Fiction - *Year One*

Dormitories and Discomfort

Blaise Zambini had had enough of the other first year Slytherins, specifically the boys.

They were, to say the least, a rambunctious group. They were all quite loud but Gregory Goyle topped them all. He could get the attention of everyone in the Great Hall without any spell, a trait perfect for someone in government and politics, but he lacked any independent thought (also similar to those in government and politics, humorously enough). Instead of using his volume for something beneficial, Goyle mostly stuck to laughing at the other students with Malfoy.

His polar opposite, Vincent Crabbe, was either very quiet or similarly had no independent thoughts; Blaise had only heard him laughing alongside Malfoy and Goyle, but as far as he knew Crabbe hadn't said a word the whole night.

And Draco Malfoy, of course, was the most insufferable of the bunch. Frankly, Blaise found him obnoxious. If there was a spell that caused every sentence to turn into some kind of boast, Malfoy had been struck by it. He and Goyle had decided to play a game of catch in the middle of Dumbledore's closing speech, Malfoy flinging carrot slices into Goyle's mouth, when he missed and nailed Crabbe squarely in the forehead.

Blaise had rolled his eyes in annoyance and cursed his existence. What'd he done to deserve such an unruly group of housemates?

The only partially sufferable one was Theodore Nott, the boy he'd sat with alongside the American girl on the boat ride across the lake, but the boy was nearly as shaky with anxiety as Quirrel. It was nearly impossible to talk to him without the boy breaking out in a panic attack. It was also kind of annoying.

Blaise was fine with being alone. He'd spent most of his childhood trying to be alone. His mother was too much to bear, especially after her first marriage ended in flames, and every step father got more insufferable as they came. He'd avoided his mom with everything he had since his dad, his real dad, died. His only friend was the emptiness of a room and the silence that followed.

Doesn't look like I'll be getting much personal space, though, does it?

The dorm Gemma Farely, one of their prefects, had directed them to was too small for five boys. The beds were just over a foot from each other, and when accompanied with a dresser for each boy, small desks, and a trunk at the foot of each bed, there was very little space indeed. The darkness of the room truly didn't help either. There were deep velvet curtains that stretched over the one window in the room, and when opened, the pale green of the lake only lit up a small portion of the shadows in the room. Accompanied with the dark green bedding and wallpaper, the dorm felt suffocatingly tiny.

"Nice, isn't it? Not as nice as my bedroom back home, it could use some posters or something, but not bad." Malfoy strutted his way into the room ahead of the others and chose the bed next to the window as his own. Attached at his hip, Crabbe and Goyle chose the beds on either side of Malfoy.

The posters Malfoy suggested would only crowd the room further, but Blaise kept his mouth shut and chose the bed in the corner closest to the door. At least he'd be somewhat secluded there.

The boys looked through the pile of trunks in the middle of the room, each in search of their own. "Blimey, Zambini, did you forget to pack this thing?" Goyle gawked, holding up Blaise's suitcase incredulously.

Blaise ignored the comment and picked up his trunk to carry to his bed. He hadn't forgotten to pack it but the suitcase was suspiciously light for a full year of school. It was nearly empty.

"Hey, are you sure that's your trunk? Nott's is heavy enough to carry your whole mansion, I think there might have been a mix-up," Malfoy laughed and pushed another trunk in Nott's direction. The boy was so red he could blend in with a Gryffindor scarf.

They went on to unload their trunks, Goyle and Malfoy tossing thoughts about the upcoming Quidditch season between the two of them. They favoured the Slytherin team, for obvious biassed reasons, and only stopped their chatter when Malfoy groaned in annoyance.

"Flying with Gryffindor? Are you joking?"

"We have Potions with them too! Blimey, this sucks." Goyle angrily flopped back onto his bed and tossed his newly found schedule to the ground.

Malfoy, who'd found his schedule first, rolled his eyes at his henchman. "Oh please, Potions will be fine. Snape favours us, of course, so I'm sure we'll be fine even with those blasted Gryffindors."

"What's so bad about the Gryffindors, anyways?" The whole room turned to Nott. It was the first time he'd said anything without stuttering, but the moment the words were out of his mouth and all eyes were on him, he flushed.

Malfoy sneered. "What's so bad? What, are you daft?"

Nott nervously shrugged.

"The Gryffindors are the worst of the bunch. Always going on and on about how brave and courageous they are, it's quite stupid, really. I'd rather be a Hufflepuff, if I couldn't pick Slytherin of course."

Goyle and Crabbe laughed at this and nodded in agreement.

The praise pushed Malfoy further. "Besides, my father says they're all a bunch of muggle-lovers and blood traitors. Good-for-nothing-Gryffindor gits is what they are."

Crabbe and Goyle laughed again, but there wasn't as much conviction in their giggles this time.

They'd stumbled onto the unspoken topic of the night. It was unavoidable, bound to be brought up at some point, yet they all still dodged like shadows running from the light of a candle.

Blood purity.

Silence hung over the first year boys like a thick wet blanket. Nott grew impossibly more anxious, shuffling his feet together over his bed and digging at his fingernails like a scratch-off lottery ticket. Crabbe swallowed so loud Blaise could hear it from the other side of the room, and for the first time all night he couldn't hear Malfoy's obnoxious remarks or Goyle's barking laughter. Blaise himself had said very little throughout the night but felt like he couldn't, even if he wanted to, over the suffocating, fuzzy silence.

Although they were pure-bloods, Blaise's mother never really cared for the status that came with it. Mrs. Zambini preferred to measure her power and importance in wealth and connections. Of course, in their world, the most important people were pure-bloods -- as such Mrs. Zambini surrounded herself with such families as the Mafloys, the Blacks and the Rosiers. And as such, over time, her mind would warp to believe the same of muggles as the purist families.

Anyone with muggle blood in their own was dirty. They weren't fit to have magic. They were lesser than pure-bloods.

Blaise didn't understand this, but he didn't think he cared to.

It didn't affect him anyways.

But the question that hung over each of the five Slytherin boys as they awkwardly shuffled into their pyjamas and tucked themselves into bed kept them awake long into the night.

Why did blood-purity matter, anyways?