Draco Malfoy's Perspective

Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Violet loathed the Slytherins.

She watched them hexing and cursing people for fun and did so to them. Everyone knew who the curses came from, so why weren't they retaliating? She was itching to duel with them.

Two weeks into the year she walked up to Dumbledore's office and rapped on the door. "Enter."

The door opened and she walked in, her back straightened confidently. "Professor, I'd like to request to move back to Gryffindor house."

"May I ask why?" Dumbledore asked, folding his hands on his desk.

"The Slytherins are the most unkind group of people I've ever had the displeasure of having to be around. They talk to every Muggleborn and some Halfbloods as inferiors, they don't respect authority, they destroy friendships as easily as I rip parchment, and the dormitory is so cold I've been reduced to wearing three pairs of socks overnight."

"I will speak to the house elves responsible for the heating of the Slytherin dormitories, but I'm afraid that I cannot help the other problems you're having. The Sorting Hat makes no mistake, Miss Ramsey. There is something you must learn from the Slytherins, and you cannot learn it if you are blinded by hatred or prejudice."

Her jaw dropped. "Prejudice? I am not prejudiced!"

"My dear, you have been with them only two weeks and are already coming to conclusions even I have yet to draw. Their friendships are strange indeed, but you have not been with them long enough to see he cycle of one argument take place; give it time. As for the respect of authority, I do not recall ever having to discipline a mass amount of students from any one house for authoritarian disrespect."

Violet sighed. This was a bust. "Yes, Professor."

"Try to pretend as though you knew nothing about them before this year. Do not look at them through the lens of prejudice."

"Yes, Professor."

She walked back toward the door, then paused. "Professor? Why did the Sorting Hat move me?"

Dumbledore smiled. "Miss Ramsey, that is a question I will enjoy searching for the answer to."

She walked down to her common room and looked around. The fire was just glowing coals, several people sneered as she passed through, and a shudder passed over her body.

The next morning Draco fell into step beside her. "Pansy said you cried last night."

"No." She strode on.

He kept pace. "It wouldn't bother me if you did. You haven't exactly had a kind welcome, have you?"

She scoffed. "And you're offering me one? Doubtful."

"Of course I'm not! I just wanted to point out that you cried yourself to sleep! Wanting your Muggle parents, are you?"

She stopped, and he did too. Her teeth ground against each other. "Draco Malfoy, I understand that you do not like me. I don't like you either. So leave me alone. Antagonising me will not do anything other than increase our dislike for each other."

She walked into the Great Hall and gazed longingly at the Gryffindor table. Dean Thomas saw her looking and waved. She smiled slightly, then turned to her table and sat at the end. Draco sat a few seats down on the other side. She frowned. He usually sat in the middle of the table; that's why she took the end.

During the meal Draco glanced a few times at Violet. She needed him, though she didn't know it. His protection was the only thing keeping her from being cursed out of recognition.

He wanted to make her feel welcome; the only Slytherins she had yet noticed were those who caused trouble.

He grimaced and looked at his plate. Mudblood. It didn't matter how beautiful she was, or how smart she was. She was a Muggleborn. He would not be involved with a Muggleborn. First of all, she wasn't worthy of him. Secondly, his parents would disown him. And third...the Dark Lord would kill him. Being a blood traitor is just as bad as being a Muggleborn.

Beside him, Pansy sneered down the table. "Filthy Mudblood. How dare she try to speak to you earlier."

He didn't mention that he had initiated the conversation. "Isn't Abel a Muggleborn? We should introduce them; maybe that'll get her off our back."

"Except I won't associate myself with Mudbloods, even to make them leave us alone." She spooned food into her mouth and spit it back out. "Ugh. All this talk of Mudbloods has ruined my appetite."

Like you ever had one, thought Draco, looking at her anorexic figure. "Mine as well."

"So let's leave." She smiled at him.

He didn't reply–merely stood and walked out. Pansy wrapped her arms around his, holding him as if he were trying to break away from her in Violet's opinion. She scoffed at them as they passed.

"Do you have something to say, Mudblood?" Pansy asked, turning at the end of the table.

Violet stood up, her eyes flashing. "In fact. I hate this house, I hate you, and I utterly loathe hearing that god-forbidden, disgusting, derogatory term. Say it again and you'll wish the thought had. Never. Crossed. Your. Mind."

Draco couldn't help but to smirk. The sinister tone in Violet's voice and the dead look in her eye were much more Slytherin than Gryffindor. And much more confident than most Muggleborns. He admired her spunk.

Pansy detached herself from Draco and stepped directly in front of Violet, pulling her wand out. Violet reached for her own wand. Pansy pressed the tip of her wand into Violet's cheek. "We wouldn't want to make a scene, would we...Mud. Blood." Her eyes glinted and her cheeks twitched upward.

Violet simply smiled. "Miss Parkinson, you have unleashed a fury hath not known by hell." And she walked out of the Great Hall.

Draco smirked, watching her leave. Pansy smacked his chest. "Draco! Focus! If you let your guard down, I don't doubt she'd try to smuggle a love potion into your pumpkin juice."

"I don't doubt you wouldn't do the same." He apprehended her. "If the wind caught you right."

"Well you aren't wrong." She smiled deviously.

After looking at Violet, Draco couldn't find anything attractive in Pansy. She was so thin she looked like a skeleton; her face was plain and her smile was fake. Violet was the midday sun to Pansy's midnight darkness.

Yet he found himself more fond of Pansy than of Violet. Pansy was, after all, a family friend, a Pureblood, and approved by his parents. Violet was a Muggleborn, hated by everyone he knew, damned by his parents' master. His master. The Dark Lord. Violet was already condemned; there was no use forcing something that should never come to be.

So he let Violet leave in her rage, and he turned aside with Pansy, completely content, apart from her now minimal beauty. But that he could get over. She was still pretty; just not beautiful.

Violet flipped her hair, stalked her room, stoked her fire. Her eyes burned with fury. One of her best friends was a Muggleborn: Hermione Granger. She wanted to speak with Hermione, but didn't know the password to Gryffindor Tower, and didn't know where she would be. Or perhaps Dean Thomas. He would be with Ginny though, or Lavender. Perhaps Seamus. And Violet didn't like any of them.

There was only one option. Slytherin. And there was only one Muggleborn in Slytherin other than herself. Abel Kelly. A third year, but a Muggleborn.

She needed to get back at Pansy though. Follow through on her threat of making her life hell. So she'd hit Pansy where it hurt–her appearance, and her reputation.

That night Pansy walked into their room late; past lights out. Violet pretended to be asleep. When Pansy had laid down and Violet could hear her breathing deepen, Violet smirked and got up.

"Furnucula," she whispered, and boils popped up all over Pansy's skin. She then protected herself against curses and stashed her wand where Pansy would hesitate to look before lying down to sleep, a smirk on her lips.