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

Typical

Isobel would've been the first to admit that maybe, just maybe, this was a terrible idea.

In all the free periods and late weekend afternoons she had, she'd made a habit out of camping out in the library for hours at a time. Theodore would sometimes tag along, but most of the time she was left with just a pile of books and parchments, which she was perfectly fine with. She had staked claim to a small table privately tucked into a corner by windows that overlooked the grounds, and similarly, her nook in the library had become her favourite place in the whole school.

It was in all this time, however, that she found herself running into Hermione Granger. A lot.

She didn't quite understand why seeing Hermione bent her so out of shape; the sight of her frizzy curls or her tight-lipped face made Isobel feel nauseated and sweaty. Truly, what had happened in the hallway with Draco Malfoy was none of Isobel's business, but guilt was a heavy blanket slung over her shoulders and determined to take her down.

And thus, Isobel found herself acting rather like a total creep.

Isobel was standing in between bookshelves just off of the desk Hermione was sitting in. She had picked out a book to use as a disguise for her prolonged presence so close to the Gryffindor, but there was no amount of books that could hide her blatant staring. She felt as though she were going to be sick (again). But she needed to say something to Hermione, something about how she thought it was ridiculous that people still held such prejudice beliefs about muggle-borns in this day and age, about how her blood made her no less of a witch and how Isobel thought she was absolutely brilliant-

"What are you staring at?"

Isobel's eyes refocused. Hermione was staring right back at her.

"Me?"

"Who else would I be talking to?"

"I'm not sure."

"Yes, you."

"Me, right... I'm sorry, what was the question?"

Hermione scowled. "There was no question. You were staring at me."

"Oh," Isobel felt her face catch fire. "I'm sorry."

"Well, you should be."

It was the last possible response Isobel was expecting.

"Where are they then?"

Another response Isobel was not expecting.

"Well?"

"I'm sorry?"

Hermione gave her a pointed glare. "Your stupid friends. Go on. Where are they?"

"Who?"

Hermione slammed her book shut and stacked them. Her hands were shaking, but her voice was solid stone. "Honestly, what do you take me for? I'm not an idiot, you know. I can tell a set up when I see one. So go on, where're your friends? Waiting to push me in the hallway? Hiding behind the bookshelves, hmm?"

Isobel stuttered before pushing out a full sentence. "What? No, Hermione I promise that's not what this was, I just wanted to apologi-"

"Seriously, you Slytherins make me sick!" Hermione's chair moved from beneath her with an abrupt screech. "You really must take me for an idiot. I'm not falling for that or any of your other tricks. If you've got a problem with my 'dirty blood' being here, take it up with Dumbledore, I don't care! I may be muggle-born," she said, pointing a finger into Isobel's chest, her face red with rage, "but you're just another rotten, typical Slytherin, just like all the others."

Isobel stood there, staring at the empty chair Hermione had sat in, long after she'd stormed from the library.